When I was in California recently, I watched the moonrise over a distant rocky landscape. It rose an hour later each night, and soon it was dark for an hour or two before the rise began, long enough to see hundreds of stars before the glow spread across the horizon, then rose up and slowly veiled the whole sky. When I woke in the night the room was pearly. One night the waking included an idea. Last time I wrote about an idea growing from a symbol. This time the idea came from the moon or from sleep, or both. It wasn’t a new idea, but one I had never figured out how to write. Now I saw the structure clearly. Half asleep, it felt fully realized. I thought so even as I reminded myself of the old story about a man having a similar brilliant idea and making notes, only to wake up in the morning to find “boy meets girl” written on his bedside pad.
Remember this, I told myself. In the morning I did remember the idea, but I had an assignment to complete and friends to see and California to love, so I set it aside for the moment. Had I cracked the idea? Maybe I’ll find out one day. Or maybe the real point was the experience of disparate energy coming together in a surge of vision.
What I think of as a surge is a leap from a state of unknowing to a state of completion, skipping everything in between. It isn’t a solid , but it isn’t an illusion, either. More like a preview.
I recently read a novel that was plotted one way through most of the book, and then near the end there was a surge. Many small tentacles of plot and theme reached for each other and knitted tight together. I could feel the author’s excitement in these pages and it excited me to read them. Suddenly the parts had becoming a satisfying whole. The book was finished.
A surge at the end is so thrilling. Rather than closing a book off, it opens a book up. In great works, the reader participates, and the words come alive and leave us with a sense of life going on better seen.
What is the surge? Maybe the initial surge is subconscious stuff asking to be played with and examined until it makes sense. The final surge …the original impulse suddenly revealing itself and coming into consciousness in a form that others can understand too.
Tell me about how a surge feels to you and how you interpret it.
Bonus podcast episode:
A while back Dionne Ford and I chatted for our favorite bookstore’s podcast. Our topic was how we take care of our bodies and our nerves so we have the stamina for writing. If you ever are in Montclair, New Jersey, pay a visit to Watchung Booksellers on Fairfield Street. The support they offer local writers and readers is exceptional.
Next time I’ll report on my visit to Portland Friends.
Alice, I love calling this coming together a surge, what a dictionary might call a strong, wave-like, forward motion. Andre Dubus (the elder) once told me: “When I am almost to the end of the story I’m like a horse getting close to the barn.” Sometimes as I draw near the end I wake up with the ending in mind, the whole thing. I write the ending and then I work toward that ending. Usually when I can perceive the coming together of the disparate parts of a story or novel, it feels almost frenzied and I cannot think of anything else. I don’t want to do mundane chores out of the house. I might experience an accident and never finish the story!
This opening paragraph! Stunning! And what unfolds equally so. You got me curious, though, with this:
"I recently read a novel that was plotted one way through most of the book, and then near the end there was a surge. Many small tentacles of plot and theme reached for each other and knitted tight together. I could feel the author’s excitement in these pages and it excited me to read them. Suddenly the parts had becoming a satisfying whole. The book was finished."
What book, I wondered. Are you at liberty to reveal?
Can't wait to listen to this interview with you and Dionne Ford. It will be my treat to myself after a good day's work.
Thank you, Alice!