Tag Archives: soul

Writing with your soul

I was reading a book about the ten things that happen to you when you die . I’m on number two the tunnel. But number one is about your soul leaving your body and floating up above it. I got to thinking that while I am not into religion I do like to believe in a soul for the reason it makes life more interesting. Especially as it relates to writing. I find when I am writing I am outside of my body and totally absorbed into some outer dimension where the characters talk to me and the action of the story develops. Even as I write this I am not really consciously thinking I am just letting it all flow into the phone. Of course on a second edit there is more thought of plot and ryhmn and such like. But definitely there is that feeling of been lost from the material world and been sucked into some place where you are floating away from your body. Often I come out of a writing session to find I have been sitting awkwardly and a leg has gone dead. Is this the same as where the mind goes as your soul after your body dies, heads for that car park where you find out if you will be riding a donkey or a Porsche in the next life.

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Just been also thinking about the whole idea of following the prescribed format for screenplays and stories the hero journey. And it all just plays to much like forced rubbish to me. The hero is in a bad way someone makes it worse but in the end he resolved the problem and grows due to it. I don’t know if I want to be following the level of prescription.maybe my characters tell me that he learns nothing and he isn’t bothered by a conflict he just ploughs through life having fun or killing folk or building skyscrapers where he was hired to build a cottage

Poem I’ll just write what comes to mind

The candle light stood on the floor
And the girls they danced within
A son of Ireland stood on to see
The last time he would dance here
He took the boat upon a Sunday
When the priest words were fading
And the sea was sailing across
The broad Atlantic Coast

He took a job in Brooklyn to live
Rested in comfort among his kin
The prize money he drank of a
Tuesday when the blood was in
His eye. He sang a song of Ireland
And beat a merry drum

Awaiting in Galway among the shoals
Of Aran tweed a girl lies crying
Praying that his feet will dance again

(C) frank McGivney 28 October 2014

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