Writers love metaphors, analogies & all manner of parallels. We thrive on them. And frankly, it’s easy to mix them up. For the purpose of this post – which references a connection to the central theme of my third book – Wild Spinning Girls – & my recent altercation with a pavement pothole, analogy will have to do. (Coincidence is in the eye etc.)
Fourteen weeks ago, when I broke my leg & found myself temporarily disabled, it ‘coincided’ with a point in my pitch-to-publication journey when ‘waiting’ (every writer’s superpower) was called for. The deal for this third book has been confirmed, but there is still work to be done. (Quite right too – I rely on my editor to iron out the creases, with, if necessary, an industrial trouser press.)
Wild Spinning Girls is a story with several strands. The main one concerns a young woman – a ballet dancer – who believes herself too broken to ever dance again. (It’s based very loosely on the fairytale, The Red Shoes.)
As I nursed my own damaged leg, felt it heal, only to be told I have smashed ligaments (which could take months to mend), with far too much time on my hands, of course, I saw the similarities.
Struggling at first to get back to writing – pick up the threads of Book 4 – I spent several weeks thinking about the nature of coincidence. Another interesting figure of speech, albeit it one I’m reluctant to countenance. I’m someone who has worked on the edge of magic for most of my adult life. On rare occasions I’ve dived deep – into it’s resonant heart – experienced things so profound I have no real explanation for them; only my conviction that magic & reality are closely linked, if only we have the courage or imagination to accept we are part of nature so why wouldn’t it speak to us? But it’s more than simply the sudden beat of a bird’s wing, an unexpected ripple on water or a shiver down the spine. You have to go deep to discover authenticity.
© Rob Piercy
I digress – I do that, dear reader. My question is, as I don’t ascribe to the notion of coincidence, does art imitate life? Are there moments when a book writer (artist, poet, musician et al) sees tangible threads connecting what they are currently creating to what they are experiencing in real life?
The question’s largely rhetorical, although your views are always welcome.