Seasons and Stories
By Juliet Marillier | May 10, 2023 |
Here in the southern hemisphere the season is turning. A baking hot Australian summer—now even hotter thanks to climate change—gives way to cooler and damper conditions where I live, but not before a period of dramatic rises and dips in temperature from day to day. Inside, dogs are snuggling close to heaters. Outside, leaves have been falling for months, or so it seems. I wish I could understand the mind of a tree, with the climate under such stress, and the ancient, steady pattern of the seasons replaced by wild extremes. Instead, I rake up the leaves. I greet the magpies, regular visitors to my garden. I check on plants that are in trouble for one reason or another, and attempt solutions for them. I feel delight that some are doing well despite the odds. I observe that some plants have been confused by the juxtaposition of very hot days and chilly ones; of (literally) months without rain followed by a flooding deluge. Trees respond by putting out new shoots in autumn, or flowering out of season, or with that continuing leaf drop. When I go back indoors to write, my mind is ready for the task. It’s little wonder that my work in progress is built around a threat to nature, and a protagonist who must overcome extreme challenges, both internal and external, to fight for what they believe in.
I’ve blogged before about the way natural cycles—the seasons, the weather, the life patterns of creatures, including humankind—helped shape the spiritual beliefs and the storytelling in societies of the past. These days, armed with scientific knowledge, we are less likely to blame some malign god for a devastating flood, fire, or plague. We are less likely, when witnessing a growing disaster of human making, to believe a kinder deity can supply solutions. It often seems there are no solutions. But we writers have a strong tool in our hands. As the storytellers of this age, we can make a difference; we can fight for a cause through our work. Not by hammering the message home; not by ranting and raving; not by lecturing. Through the magic of story. The story, well told, captures the listener or reader and holds them enthralled. It presents its message subtly, in a way that both entertains the reader and causes them to think, to ponder, to try out new paths, to learn.
I’m coming out of a two-year writing gap, with the exception of a couple of short stories. That’s a long hiatus for me. Prior to that I’ve had a new novel on the go every year since my first was published way back in 1998. Now I’m happy to be tackling what might be called a project of the heart. This time around I’m working with a small independent publishing house rather than the major publishers of the past. I feel as if I have more artistic freedom, more ability to build my own passionate beliefs into the story. This is not a novel about climate change; the quasi-historical setting doesn’t allow that. But the underlying theme, related to protecting nature, is entirely relevant to the enormous challenge we face in our time. It’s also a story whose protagonist doesn’t fit the mould of their community or society; they are a person whose modes of thinking and behaviour fall well outside the norm. It’s a story about being different, and how that can be seen as burden or asset, curse or blessing.
Writing this story also feels different. Not only has it made me more observant of my own environment, but the story seems to be blending with my everyday life. It’s not just waking at night with characters and scenes in my head. I’m sure that happens for many writers of fiction. This is something weirder. I recently rescued a trapped magpie under very odd conditions, and that inspired a scene; it also sparked a new level of understanding between me and the local magpie community, because magpies remember. A scene in which a frenzied horse is calmed played itself out with one of my dogs in startling detail, not before I wrote the scene, but the day after (all ended well, no trip to the emergency vet was required.) With this project, fact and fiction feel curiously close, despite my return to the familiar discipline of a strict daily word count and a self-imposed edit-as-you-go method, both of which help me meet my deadlines. But I do wonder about those peculiar story-related occurrences in real life – are they sheer coincidence or something stranger? Were those odd chimes always there, and was I oblivious to them before? Perhaps I needed those fallow years to become open to them.
Writing this story also brings back old memories. It’s hard for me to write about the thoughtless felling of beloved trees, as it brings to the surface a traumatic long-ago period in my life. Perhaps setting it down in fictional form will prove therapeutic. Writing from the point of view of the unusual protagonist is also challenging, in a good way – learning to understand your characters from the inside is always enlightening. Doing so can only improve a writer’s ability to relate to their fellow humans. That works the other way around as well, of course: get to know your fellow humans and you will write more believable characters. All in all, this is a great learning process, and what could be better than enjoying the writing journey?
Which is more important to you, telling a great story or making a statement about something you passionately believe in? How do you blend the two to make a compelling read? I’d love to see your examples of stories in which this is done well.
Have you ever felt that your fiction is taking over your real life? If so, was it help or hindrance to your writing?
Juliet Marillier has written twenty-four novels for adults and young adults and two collections of short fiction. Her works of historical fantasy have been published around the world and have won numerous awards. Juliet’s most recent series was Warrior Bards, of which the third and final book, A Song of Flight, was published in 2021. Her collection of reimagined fairy tales, Mother Thorn and Other Tales of Courage and Kindness, had its trade release in 2022. Mother Thorn is illustrated by Kathleen Jennings and published by Serenity Press.
Juliet is currently working on a two-book fantasy series. The first book in this duology, The Amber Owl, will be published by New Dawn in February 2025.
When not writing, Juliet looks after a small crew of rescue dogs.
Hi Juliet — Boy, weather-wise, do we have the wild, fast swings to extremes. The plants certainly seem bewildered. Who could blame them? I love that feeling, when day-to-day life sort of melds with what’s coming out on the page so beautifully. It’s wonderful to hear that it’s happening for you. And that we’re going to be getting more of your storytelling in the future! That’s the best takeaway from your lovely post. Always great to hear from you, thanks!
Good to hear from you too, Vaughn! It feels so good to be enjoying writing again.I hope all’s well with you.
Hi Juliet, when one loves to write, I don’t think it TAKES OVER your life. Writing for me is part of my life and I miss the days when I don’t have as much time to do so. I love writing, telling a story, and I also blog, which helps me emote about things that fill me with passion and often anger. Your amazing library of 24 books is a testament…you have figured it out, and YOU GOT IT RIGHT.
Hi Elizabeth and thank you for this – you speak the truth!
“The story, well-told, captures the listener or reader and holds them enthralled. It presents its message subtly…” This, for me, encapsulates the power of fiction and is the thing that keeps me going. As to your fiction mirroring your life, I would say yes, absolutely, that can happen, although maybe not always in a ‘logical’ oder. It’s been my observation that synchronicities are messages to us that we’re on the right track, working where we need to work. It’s the Universe saying ‘yes.’ I had one this morning and to my great delight, it connects to your post. As I was walking my dog this morning, I was thinking about the rhythms here, (I live on a 30 acre farm), the inhales and exhales, the quiet of winter opening out into this riotous burst of spring. I came home and wrote it down because it felt like a beginning to something I’ve been working on. Then I read your lovely post and got my ‘yes’. I will right that story, and I cannot wait to read yours.
Lovely to hear from you, Susan! Dog walks provide excellent thinking time, I find – many creative ideas pop into my mind while I am out there in (relative) solitude, and I live in a place that has beautiful natural spaces nearby, including a river visited by many birds. That creative state does tend to be interrupted from time to time by the need to pick up dog poop (from the sublime to the ridiculous.) I have found the synchronicities encouraging, if a little weird at times!
Were those odd chimes always there? Yes, in my life I’ve seen them for many years. It’s spooky sometimes, how I write something one day and the next day it happens. It’s embarrassing-awkward sometimes, when I find out something I’ve written exactly mirrors an experience of someone close to me, yet I had no knowledge of it when I wrote it. It is thrilling when there’s a connection, usually with a stranger, and I realize why I wrote what I did. I think it all attests to the power of words and intuition combined.
Thank you for this lovely post touching on what it’s really like to write.
Hi Ada, and thanks so much for the comment. Intuition is a strange thing; there’s a kind of magic in the way writers think, perhaps. Something beyond logical explanation?
Love post, Juliet, and I’ve come to believe there are no coincidences, just God-cidences. I love those little winks from God telling me I’m on the right path. Fiction is powerful because it’s a more gentle method of persuasion, even if we’re not trying to persuade, rather understand. I usually write about the things that I’m trying to understand, that won’t let go. I just finished Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni’s novel about mothers and daughters, Before We Visit the Goddess, and how beautiful to read about three generations of women, how they love, how they hurt one another, how some actions can stay with you your whole life, what you believe about yourself. Deeply resonating for me because I straddle two cultures as well on many levels, not just country, but faith or lack thereof, rational vs mystical, etc. Thank you for your beautiful reflections into your writing journey. It is a blessing.
Thank you for your insight,Vijaya. I’ll add Before We Visit the Goddess to my TBR list. – it sounds wonderful.
Which is more important to you, telling a great story or making a statement about something you passionately believe in? How do you blend the two to make a compelling read? I’d love to see your examples of stories in which this is done well.
Great questions.
It takes more time to do more complicated writing, to combine feelings and actions to give weight to ordinary actions to give that passion a space, to go past the ordinary expression and find a small perfect different way to show or express a thought.
The thing is, although cliches are easy ways to get an idea across, they also smoosh together a number of gradations in that very idea, losing specificity when they provide a ‘quick cut’ version. I like to observe the clichéd thought – and what it expresses – but then slow down to recapture the same idea in a unique small way better suited to the nuance of the occasion. To let my brain do its short cut – but to habitually catch that and not let it stand.
Because I want the great story AND the passionate statement, and only have so much space. Anyone can throw up a tent for shelter, but it takes slow real craft to hollow out a hobbit house.
Unfortunately, I only know my own work well enough to mine for examples, and they’re all too long. It takes time – and space.
I so look forward to your current project! All of your books that I’ve read have been absolutely gorgeous, I’m curious to see what you do with more artistic freedom.
As for the question of telling a great story vs making a statement about something I’m passionate about. While I write fantasy, what I write and who I write about tends to be seen as inherently a statement, whether I intend it that way or not. Nearly all of my characters fall under at least one letter of the LGBTQ+ spectrum, and many are neurodivergent, because that’s what’s normal for me – I’m queer and neurodivergent and so are most of those I choose to spend my time with. It follows naturally from there that most of my stories, at least on some level, deal with themes of being othered and pushed to the fringes and the different ways people respond to and deal with that. But honestly, I feel like the issues I’m passionate about (and steeped in the experience of) and the stories I write tend to be so inextricably woven together that untangling story from statement would be a bit of a challenge on my end. Whether I do it well is, of course, up to interpretation (though I certainly hope I’m telling good stories).
Stories that have combined making statements and telling an excellent story well:
The Amberlough Dossier (3 books) by Lara Elena Donnelly
Hell Followed With Us by Andrew Joseph White (YA, post-apocalyptic horror)
A tv series rather than a book, but Black Sails may be one of the (if not THE) best examples that I’ve seen
Thanks for your contribution, Dorian – you make some great points. I guess if a writer is doing the job well, story and statement are indeed so closely woven that trying to separate them would be detrimental (I’ve never liked overdone literary analysis!) Maybe the most powerful stories are the ones that contain the writer’s deep truth in some form or another. I remind myself that my very first novel, which was full of newbie flaws but nonetheless well received, contained some of the same messages as the work in progress. Thanks for the recommendations, I will definitely follow them up.