The Worryland Express

Writers are blessed with hyperactive imaginations.

It is an incredible gift, one that allows readers to dive into our words and immerse themselves in the world we created.

Yet that exact same imagination can sometimes feel like a curse.

Other writers understand this, because we're constantly talking each other off the ledge, all because we have the ability to twist a harmless everyday scenario into something of catastrophic proportions. With record speed. And multiple horrendous outcomes.

It's great that we can use this skill in our writing. To be honest, there isn't a lucrative career path for professional worriers. Raise your hand if you saw a table for that particular job at the latest career fair.

And worrying isn't exactly the most lauded of accomplishments. If it was, we would be called "Worry Wonders". Instead, we're labeled "Worry WARTS". Yeesh.

We're always analyzing, even if we don't mean to. Our brain takes all kinds of detours, preferring the dark corners and crooked paths to the easy, straight-and-narrow one.

For instance, this post was supposed to be something else. I was in the kitchen, checking on the bread pudding in the oven. I was pondering how I'm not a cook, but I really like cookbooks, and I decided to write a post about that.

But somehow my mind meandered into Worryland. You think you're headed for Wonderville, but it's the neighboring town, and the borderline is not clearly delineated. One minute I'm wondering if the oven thermometer is actually set correctly, displaying the right temperature, and the next I'm worrying what will happen if the eggs aren't cooked enough, because I could possibly get sick from undercooked eggs, but if I keep baking it, the bread will get too hard, or burnt, and. . .

The good thing is I got a blog post out of it, a completely unexpected one.

I'm not complaining about the way my writer brain works. Now that I understand how it operates, I actually appreciate its wandering eye and packrat tendencies. It's like Evanelle, the character in Sarah Addison Allen's wonderful book, Garden Spells, who brings people something they'll need down the road. She doesn't know WHY they need it, or WHEN, but she's compelled to bring some oddball thing to them, and of course it's always the perfect solution to their situation later.

My brain does that too. I'm frowning and cogitating and huffing and puffing, fretting over which direction a scene should go, and poof! A great idea bursts open in my brain, and there in the midst of all the smoke and hoopla is just what I needed, something my brain collected and stored while I was busy doing something else.

It may be impossible to determine which came first, the worrying or the writing. They're interconnected, intertwined, evil twins from separate demon mothers. The best part is that writing is a sanctioned form of worrying, and it gives us a chance to wrestle with things that concern or puzzle us, all while we're producing an unputdownable story.

And then we can start worrying about the next story.

Comments

[Quantum]

Writing is very much a lonely cerebral activity. You start with a clear desk and a blank sheet of paper, or a blank computer screen nowadays. Then there is just you and that sheet of paper. In a while your mind starts to generate all sorts of wonderful situations and characters, as though out of nothing. You are transported to your own personal universe where everything has been created by you.

Sounds too good to be true. And indeed there is no free lunch in this world. You pay by worrying or sleeplessness or some other symptom of strain. It's almost a law of nature.

I'm sure that the creator must also have worried when he produced existence from the big bang. In his case it might have been whether he had the right balance between good and evil.

The quantum mechanical forces needed for creating matter have a built in uncertainty that allows free will in order for life to have meaning. All the constants in the equations for creation are perfectly balanced. The tiniest change in any of them would have yielded a lifeless world. He couldn't have given that responsibility to an apprentice!

So be grateful that your created worlds can be modified; that you can correct mistakes and alter the balance of good and evil; that you can insist that love prevails. The creator of the real world didn't have that luxury!

Lovely thoughtful blog Donna
I like your philosophical musings! *smile*

[Donna Cummings]

Q, I love your scientific descriptions and explanations. And you are so right about having the luxury of modifying my creations. I hadn't really thought of it that way. Although right now, the revisions I'm currently trying to do (aka "avoiding") feel bigger than my imagination. LOL

Uncertainty definitely causes some stress. I have to remind myself I've got lots of experience doing this, even though it's a different universe than the previous one I created. It's a matter of giving my brain something productive to work on, when it would rather fret and wring its hands. LOL

[Melissa]

The next time someone calls me a worry wart I'll pretend they mean it as a compliment. I'm a worry WONDER. LOL! It sounds like a super hero. I guess I need to keep my worry talent a secret!

You're right, I don't think we can tell which came first; the worrying or the writing. Sometimes I think the worrying in my life comes out in my writing as a way to use up the byproduct of everything I imagined could go wrong but didn't. I used much more energy preparing myself for the worst and it seems a waste to not use it.

Like the other day, my son and I were in our old car and he's asking, "what does this button do?" It's an old car and the last mystery button opened the sun roof that I learned wouldn't go back again. I imagine the worst.
"Don't touch it!"
"Why?" he asks.
"It's an ejector seat button."

Wrong thing, by the way to say to a ten-year-old. Like that would stop him? Fortunately, I just found the overhead light. Then he says, "I'm glad it wasn't an ejector seat button. I wouldn't know how to drive the car without you."

Now who said it was going to eject me? LOL Anyway, imagining the worst that can happen IS the story.

[Donna Cummings]

LOL, Melissa -- I'm glad I'm not the only one who imagines the very worst possibility. I'm always so relieved (and shocked) when things turn out better than I expect. LOL It's almost as if I didn't worry enough!

And I love the mystery button in the car. That is too funny. We see the potential troubles. A 10-year-old boy sees the adventure. Which means we should be more like him. :)