The Inspiration Trap: Guest Post by Dennis Palumbo

Dennis Palumbo:
The Inspiration Trap 

The novelist Peter DeVries once said, “I only write when I’m inspired, so I see to it that I’m inspired every morning at nine o’clock.”

On the other hand, playwright Mary Chase, when asked how she got the idea for her famous play, Harvey, replied: “I looked up from the breakfast table one morning and there he was.”

This latter comment is the kind that can give new (and not so new) writers a heart attack. It reinforces the belief that a great idea just “comes to you,” that the lucky few are visited by the spirit of creativity and originality. Even Shakespeare, in his prologue to Henry V, implores the gods to inspire him: “O for a Muse of Fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention---”

Most of us, when having breakfast, rarely encounter an invisible six-foot rabbit. Or, for that matter, a Muse of Fire. Instead, we encounter the blank page, the empty computer screen. The damned cursor blinking impatiently. Waiting.

And that’s when we fall prey to what I call “The Inspiration Trap.” In my view, the idea of “inspiration” does a great deal of damage to a writer. For one thing, it devalues craft, which I think is the most crucial aspect of writing. It also affirms the notion that the writer him- or herself is somehow not enough. That some special talent or knowledge or divine gift---something outside of the writer---is necessary to create a compelling story.

Not that this belief is difficult to understand. Writing is a strangely contradictory process, in that it’s both fragile and back-breaking, elusive and demanding. Moreover, it’s work. It takes time. And it’s hard.

Thus the understandable yearning behind the myth of inspiration. It just shows up, as if by magic. Does the creative heavy lifting. Shines a light down a thorny narrative’s winding, dark path.

But think about it: By its very nature---hell, by definition---inspiration can not be grasped or looked for, and certainly not commanded to reveal itself.

Which means that whenever a writer hits upon an exciting concept, an intriguing character, or an unexpected plot twist, it’s tempting---but wrong---to chalk it up to divine intervention. Instead, I think these surprising ideas or plot turns arise from the efforts the hard-working writer’s already expended. That, unbidden, they emerge from the deepening levels of craft a writer develops after long years of writing.

(Or, as Hemingway once advised aspiring authors, “Write a million words.” Today we’re more inclined to refer to Malcolm Gladwell’s “Ten thousand hours.” Same thing.)

Here’s how I conceptualize inspiration. Learn the writer’s craft, write regularly, grow to love the practice of stringing words together for its own sake---and inspiration will either come on a particular day or it won’t. But, regardless, you’ll have done the most important thing: you’ll have prepared the way for it.

I think author Albert Morovia said it best: “I pray for inspiration…but I work at the keyboard four hours a day.”

Given the shifting winds of fortune that accompany any writer’s life, the smart money is on craft, practice, the doing of the thing.

If inspiration shows up, so much the better.

***

Formerly a Hollywood screenwriter (My Favorite Year; Welcome Back, Kotter, etc.), Dennis Palumbo is a licensed psychotherapist and author. His mystery fiction has appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, The Strand and elsewhere, and is collected in From Crime to Crime (Tallfellow Press). His series of mystery thrillers (Mirror Image, Fever Dream, Night Terrors, Phantom Limb, and the latest, Head Wounds, all from Poisoned Pen Press), feature Daniel Rinaldi, a psychologist and trauma expert who consults with the Pittsburgh Police. For more info, visit www.dennispalumbo.com
 

Head Wounds: Guest Post by Dennis Palumbo

DENNIS PALUMBO:
HEAD WOUNDS

Nietzsche once wrote, “There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”

Perhaps. Then again, Nietzsche never met Sebastian Maddox, the villain in my latest suspense thriller, Head Wounds. It’s the fifth in my series about Daniel Rinaldi, a psychologist and trauma expert who consults with the Pittsburgh police.

What makes the brilliant, tech-savvy Maddox so relentlessly dangerous is that he’s in the grip of a rare delusion called erotomania, also known as De Clerambault’s Syndrome.

Simply put, erotomania is a disorder in which a person—in this case, Maddox—falsely believes that another person is in love with him, deeply, unconditionally, and usually secretly. The latter because this imaginary relationship must be hidden due to some social, personal, or professional circumstances. Perhaps the object of this romantic obsession is married, or a superior at work. Often it’s a famous athlete or media celebrity.

Not that these seeming roadblocks diminish the delusion. They can even provide a titillating excitement. Often, a person with erotomania believes his or her secret admirer is sending covert signals of their mutual love: wearing certain colors whenever a situation puts them together in public, or doing certain gestures whose meaning is only known to the two of them. Some even believe they’re receiving telepathic messages from their imagined beloved.

What makes the delusion even more insidious is that the object of this romantic obsession, once he or she learns of it, is helpless to do anything about it. They can strenuously and repeatedly rebuff the delusional lover, denying that there’s anything going on between them, but nothing dissuades the other’s ardent devotion.

I know of one case wherein the recipient of these unwanted declarations of love was finally forced to call the police and obtain a restraining order. Even then, her obsessed lover said he understood that this action was a test of his love. A challenge from her to prove the constancy and sincerity of his feelings.

As psychoanalyst George Atwood once said of any delusion, “it’s a belief whose validity is not open to discussion.”

This is especially true of erotomania. People exhibiting its implacable symptoms can rarely be shaken from their beliefs.

Like Parsifal in his quest for the Holy Grail, nothing dissuades them from their mission.

In Head Wounds, Sebastian Maddox’s crusade—when thwarted in his desires— turns quite deadly, and requires all of Rinaldi’s resourcefulness to save someone he cares about. In real life, the treatment options for the condition are limited to a combination of therapy and medication, usually antipsychotics like pimozide. If the symptoms appear to stem from an underlying cause, such as bipolar disorder, the therapeutic approach would also involve medication, typically lithium.

What makes erotomania so intriguing as a psychological condition, and so compelling in an antagonist in a thriller, is the delusional person’s ironclad conviction—the unshakeable certainty of his or her belief.

Nonetheless, as philosopher Charles Renouvier reminds us, “Plainly speaking, there is no such thing as certainty. There are only people who are certain.”

***
This post originally appeared on the Mystery Scene blog and is reprinted with permission of Mystery Scene.

Dennis Palumbo, M.A., MFT is a writer and licensed psychotherapist in private practice, specializing in creative issues. Formerly a Hollywood screenwriter (My Favorite Year, Welcome Back, Kotter, etc.), Dennis Palumbo is now a licensed psychotherapist and author. His mystery fiction has appeared in Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, The Strand, and elsewhere, and is collected in From Crime to Crime. His series of crime novels (Mirror Image, Fever Dream, Night Terrors, Phantom Limb, and Head Wounds) feature psychologist Daniel Rinaldi, a trauma expert who consults with the Pittsburgh Police. All are from Poisoned Pen Press. For more info, visit www.dennispalumbo.com.