Creative Listening + Jaye Marie Hears the Voice of Wisdom

Hearing and listening similar, yet, but not the same. When I force myself to “hear” how I believe characters in my novels should conduct themselves (about my books here), I jam them into flat molds. Inspiration comes when still my thoughts enough to listen. When I focus on what they elect to say, their texture and color is brilliant.

You know how answers can elude you until you take a shower or walk your dog?

Writing fiction is like that for me. Since my thoughts gallop like wild horses even before I’ve opened my eyes, writing Morning Pages is how I corral them. Those three pages of pen-to-paper stream of conscious that Julia Cameron recommends (I’ve blogged about her workbooks here) allow me to listen, not just hear.

Julia is also a strong believer that it’s never too early or too late to honor the creator within each of us.

Today’s guest, Jaye Marie, publishes detective thrillers and blogs from Hampshire, England. She came into writing later in life. Now 80, she’s written five novels and appears determined to make up for lost time. Check out Jaye Marie’s site to find out more about her and her books.

Here she recounts a time when her listening manifested into magic. Equally interesting to me, her visitor was North American! She explains, “Whether it is the truth or fiction is a difficult one. I was visited by someone who looked a lot like Mark Twain, and he did help me to write a story. He seemed very real to me and he helped enormously”…

The Voice of Wisdom… by Jaye Marie

My office is usually quiet and peaceful unless something goes radically wrong, and I have a rant.

Today was almost such a day, but I was trying hard not to lose my cool, determined to figure out what I was doing wrong and why my WIP (work in progress) was proving so difficult to get right.

I have to sit with my back to the door, something I wish I could change, but the layout of the room doesn’t allow this. So when I sensed someone standing behind me, I assumed it to be one of the family.

‘Ma’am, that is surely a crying shame…’

The soft, gentle voice of a man, inches from my ear, should have alarmed me, but my curiosity had the better of me, and I wondered what he was talking about. Although I wasn’t entirely sure if I had imagined it, I answered. ‘Pardon?’

‘I have to say that character is all wrong, you know…’

By now, I knew I wasn’t imagining it, but insanity seemed a better fit. I was also fascinated, so I decided to play along and see what happened. ‘How do you mean?’

‘If you permit me to sit down, I will explain…’

I nodded, aware that I was about to see who my mysterious visitor was. I watched as this white-haired, distinguished and slightly familiar gentleman walked past me to sit in the only other chair in the room. He reminded me of someone, but my brain was stumbling around like an idiot at a genius convention.

He had kind blue eyes and an enormous white moustache, a bit like Albert Einstein, but it wasn’t him. He sat next to me, calmly watching me with an amused expression. I wondered if he, like me, wondered what he was doing here. I decided to ask. ‘I should know you, but what are you doing here in my office?’

His bushy white eyebrows were moving slightly, reminding me of caterpillars.

‘Ma’am, I have no idea how I arrived here, but judging from what I just read on your notebook, I must be here to lend a hand, so to speak.’

For the next hour, we talked about my progress as a writer, my WIP and one character in particular. I had been worried about this one, so it was refreshing to have an expert opinion.

‘The problem, Ma’am, is this. You have not brought him to life yet. He needs to have a life, smell the coffee, and do normal things like a regular human being. He will die soon anyway…’

‘Where did you read that? And please stop calling me Ma’am, my name is Jaye.’

‘Oh, I didn’t read it, Jaye. The poor chap never eats, so he won’t last long…’

I was embarrassed but had to laugh. My visitor was right. I had been so involved with the plot that I had forgotten to give him a life. My eyes returned to the chapter on the desk in front of me, eager to see with fresh eyes just what a pig’s ear I had made of it all. I thanked my visitor for pointing out what had been wrong all along, but when I turned my head in his direction, he had gone, and the chair was empty…

I tried to continue working, but my brain was busy trying to remember where I had seen the old gentleman before…

https://open.spotify.com/episode/1bKmdGi98yHTSe70pLcbyf?si=0cf963dc6d5546a7

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