21: Craft & Heart
11/16/2011
Finished scene six of The Fever – 1,970 words and six pages, Diallo’s prophetic dream. Not many prophecies though at this point. I’ll have to fill those in more once I have specific details and quotes that would be pertinent from future chapters way down the road. But for now, I’m satisfied. The bones of it are straight from my earlier draft on 9/29/2009. But it’s enhanced and more fleshed out now. Especially the living moth within the amulet of golden light. It’s a nice tie-in with Wings of Providence and that theme. When things just naturally weave together and mesh like that, I gain some hope that this may actually work.
Well, only one more scene for The Fever, and it’s a small one. Done tomorrow, easy.
Present-Day Reflection
6/15/2026
Things tend to “naturally weave together and mesh” more often when I don’t cling to expectations and my preconceived scene outlines. When it feels more like taking dictation than controlling the narrative and all the details I think I need or want to include. When I allow myself to feel my way into a scene rather than just thinking my way into it.
I don’t mean to sound like Yoda though, because I know very well I need to weave both heart and mind into my work with some semblance of balance. I’ve known too many artists who rely solely on their feelings and intuition, looking upon art as a purely mystical experience where they can achieve great work if they could only tap into the core of their souls. Or some spiritual creative essence, like Yoda’s Force.
The closest I can come to agreeing with this notion is how John Fowles described it. He alluded to the idea that for artists to create great art they need only make themselves great, then paint naturally. Though this reflects ideas found in Taoism, I don’t see it as being at all mystical. It requires discipline, self-development, and training before you can just let yourself go and let your subconscious perform naturally.
All heart with no craft is noise. All craft with no heart is a well-ordered vacuum. An artist might get lucky with their happy accidents on either extreme, but there’s no consistency in it. And writing novels are marathons, not sprints. Consistency is absolutely necessary.
