Tempting fate

Sometimes we feel drawn and almost impelled to pick up a topic or commit to an action that seems like it would change our circumstances for the better.

It’s the mixed feeling that if we just say something now or push a little we can get things moving and have what we want.

But it’s mixed because at the same time we feel hesitant. Something is off and action doesn’t feel like the next logical step so much as a venting of steam, not inspired but slightly manic.

Don’t do it

If you feel mixed about a course of action you’re pretty much guaranteed a result that is at best mixed and at worst a painful and difficult letting go of resistance.

The problem is that your reality is already a perfect match to the sum of your own thoughts and attention. You can’t solve a problem with the same mind (or feeling) that created it.

The mixed, uneasy feeling is your own guidance telling you what lies in store. Yes, your action might “move things along”, but not in an easy, enjoyable, magical way.

The man in the mirror

I love the analogy of looking in a mirror and trying to change the reflection instead of changing yourself.

The whole of your reality is a reflection of the thoughts you think and the story you tell yourself. So if you aren’t happy with it, change your thoughts and tell a new story.

The impulse to try to “bang things into place” by force or by interference might seem like the quickest path to the outcome you want, but it’s still all about the reflection.

If you are at peace your world will be at peace. If you feel contentment your world will reflect that. So what if you feel an urgent, uncomfortable need to stir things up and express your inner conflict and frustration?

When you’ve had enough of turmoil and doing it the hard way you’ll find yourself valuing ease a whole lot more, and declining the sudden and pressing offer to tempt fate once more.

The meaning of life in fiction

One of the problems with my new fantasy book is that it doesn’t fit all that neatly into the fantasy genre. I’ve tagged it “magical realism” where appropriate because although it follows the standard boy-stumbles-into-hidden-magical-world trope, it does so with what I hope is as much realism as magic.

For me, magical realism is like urban fantasy with an enhanced appreciation for symbolism and hidden meaning. It borders on or blends into a spiritual worldview.

It was gratifying to find that the spiritual ideas most significant to me at the time could work their way directly or indirectly into the story. Tom’s role in the creation of the magical world let me draw on questions of free-will and fate without getting too heavy or confronting. Likewise the question of “what am I supposed to be doing?” could unfold without messing too much with the narrative.

It was probably inevitable that anything I wrote would draw on the themes and ideas that are important to me. And at present, the most significant of these ideas is that the self that feels it’s in control is an illusion.

In the story this theme approaches near the resolution of the conflict. But Tom shies away from it, relying on magic to protect him from his enemy. But as the story itself tells us, that’s Tom doing what he was meant to do.

“I don’t think you quite understand what I’ve been telling you,” Cornelius replied carefully. “There is no ‘supposed to’. There just is. If your reaction to all this is one of confusion and complication, then you just have to accept it. Or not accept it, I suppose. This is how the maker made you, after all.”

“But how does that help me?” Tom demanded. “I feel like we’re going in circles! No matter what you say it just keeps coming back to me being afraid, and there’s no way out of it!”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying,” the gnome replied calmly.

I won’t be trying to force a moral into each story, or put clumsy platitudes in the mouth of every ‘wise’ character. The beauty of magical realism is that everything becomes a kind of sign or message, whether the author realises it or not.

Tom still has a long way to go and a lot to learn. Whether he as a character understands in the end is less important than the story as a whole embodying these truths. That’s what made writing this book most rewarding to me: the chance to see these ideas, principles, and motifs appearing and reappearing everywhere throughout the story. That’s the author’s privilege, I think. We get to discover the meaning hidden in the work in ways that surprise and astonish even its creator.

If you like the idea of gnomes proclaiming free-will paradoxes, or finding the meaning of life in a children’s novel, you’ll find yourself inevitably drawn to my new book To Create a World: