My Creativity Boosted After I Fell Down the Mountain
I had been visiting with my tiny pod of friends on top of a mountain in North Carolina this week. We had created a Friday night fire circle, the first one of a new year. It was glorious and heartwarming. After vaccinations, we were together again, doing something that felt absolutely normal. We shared a collective sigh as we stared into the fire, gazed at the stars, sang with the music playing, and talked about what’s coming next. Afterward, I walked down the road back to our vacation spot.
It’s dark on the mountain, but the moonlight lit the way until it didn’t.
Do you believe in fate, destiny, or what will be will be? I’ve had enough fascinating events in my life to know that when something out of the ordinary happens, pay attention.
So, I paid attention as I tumbled down the mountain.
As a human, I understand certain moments provide clarity. As a writer, I recognize everything is material.
Tapping into the energy of the area.
I am the type of person who is in tune with my surroundings. As a writer, this is helpful for description and perspective. This particular mountain has given me much for creative writing content. Every visit I receive a specific story idea.
After a group of nine sexy hikers crossed me on a trail, I created a serial. A lost flip flop by the river became the impetus for a story. Searching for a nonexistent rest stop and finding a secluded service road took on a unique role in an erotic short. But for me, content is everywhere up here. I just need to stay open.
Do you recognize how creativity taps into your writer’s soul? Do you have the awareness that the space around you wants to share?
In life’s curriculum, you get the same lesson until you learn it.
Do you do something over and over and ask why is this happening to me? Again?
That’s what falling is to me. For a lifetime. It seems I need something big to signal me to pay attention.
So, let’s talk about falling. I’ve had some major falls. As a child, I fell down the stairs in our house, often — always moving fast. But it’s the fall as a college student, I remember. It shook the house and everyone outside came running. During a hurricane, I tumbled down a double set of wet, mildewed outdoor stairs. Rollerblading while pushing a baby stroller, I flew up and then down after hitting a rock. And then, the night before last, I fell down the mountain road.
While each of these falls was big, most of them resulted in no notable injury, only bumps, and bruises. It seems my body becomes flexible, maybe that’s for receiving information. And after each fall, something new and interesting enters my life. So, in this current fall, I paid close attention.
Nothing in the road caused the fall. When my movement shifted, I sought to catch myself headed down a decline. Because it was dark, I only had my body to follow. My memory is clear on the stutter steps that got me lower. I had the awareness the impact of the fall was imminent. And for a second time, I made the fall, but with additional information.
Remember that rollerblade accident, I learned from that one, next time when you fall, twist. That’s what I did with the double-decker stairs, and that’s what I did on the mountain. This current fall was the first time I had the breath knocked out of me. But the part that surprised me was I was upside on the road, blood draining to my head, looking uphill, not downhill. Everything went into slow motion and then my partner was bent over talking to me.
“I’m okay. I just need to lie here. I’m working.”
This was a writer’s catalyst.
It was time to gather the information.
I equate a fall in my life to a door. So, the act of falling is the door opening.
Since I began my writer life, this is my first fall. It comes at an interesting time. Guess what the door opened to? Writing.
A book flashed in my mind. It was my first favorite one as a child, The Forgotten Door by Alexander Key. The story is about a boy who falls through a door to Earth and can speak to animals and read minds.
When my back landed on the road with a thud, the sound and feel of that story came into my consciousness. Along with it were the memories of all my past falls presented to me like fanning the pages of a book complete with the sensory components while my current experience was being imprinted into this personal catalog.
My solid, full-body connection to the earth had an anchor point, writing. I wasn’t falling from something; I was falling into something.
- Writing plans clarified.
- Novel covers appeared.
- Specific story information repositioned.
- New ideas broke through.
- Conversations about writing emerged.
My life lesson contained valuable information. I’m still sorting through it. But naming it as my personal process, the human, the writer, is crucial.
I’ll categorize and organize to keep track of all the new-fangled creative information that arrives after the tumble. I’ve learned from the past it keeps seeping out.
But what I hope you get from my life of falling is that each life creates a very own specific agenda and learning curriculum. You can stop to assess and determine what is in your life that can affect you like my falls impact me.
But isn’t this what writers do? Respond and write about their life experiences, the highs, and the lows to craft a story about an idea, a topic, a theme?
I’m curious where this fall will take me. I can always go lay on the spot on the road and revisit the energy, but one thing I’d love to hear is what you discover is yours.
Please share because then I’ll start mapping the networking and connections to this fall.