Fictional Inspiration

creating idealistic scenes that will never be photographed

This piece is part III of my ongoing Photographic Ramblings. I hope you enjoy ~

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With the number of winter storms rolling into this valley as of late, I’ve (fortunately) had more days off work than usual. And since I’ve been reading a lot more books lately, these cozy days at home have been quite a blessing for my mind and body.

In the past, whenever I’d have a free day or even extra time after a workday, my initial thoughts would be that I should be going somewhere along the river or nearby to go and make some new photographs. You know, to make “good” use of the extra time I have. And some days I do take advantage…especially when I’m feeling inspired and the weather/light seems just right. But other days when it’s raining, cold and/or dull outside (like it has been for the past two weeks or so), I almost begin to feel guilty that I’m not pushing through the muddy paths that hug the river in search of an interesting scene to photograph.

I feel this strange tug-of-war going on between the emotional side of my brain and the logical side that’s telling me it’s okay to bundle up with Olive on the couch and read a book or watch a film while having a nice warm cup of coffee or two. This inner battle has been something I’ve been struggling with for a long time: the “pre-programmed” belief that I need to be creating something whenever I have the time.

Today, I am writing this to remind my own self and whoever finds this relevant that it is okay and even necessary to let the mind and body rest in different ways. It is okay to let those waves of inspiration and emotion flow through us. To let them come and go as they please. To simply enjoy the time off with your dog, partner, you name it. To sit with your thoughts and reflect on why you feel the way you feel at times or just simply accept that there are feelings that will forever go unexplained. To read a damn book or an article you’ve had bookmarked. To let the mind naturally wander into a different world for just a few minutes.

For the last decade or so, I’ve mainly read self-help books (think Tao of Wu or The Four Agreements), sociology books filled with statistics (most of Malcolm Gladwell’s books for example), and plenty of historical nonfiction that I’ve mentioned in the past. Don’t get me wrong, there is a time and place for books like these but lately I’ve noticed that I haven’t given a certain genre more of a chance since I was a kid: fiction. When I look back at when I was reading a lot in elementary school, I remember being absolutely obsessed with Daniel Handler’s A Series of Unfortunate Events books. My mind would enter these beautifully detailed gothic worlds when I was either sitting in an artificially-lit classroom or at home in my room. It was quite the lovely escape for me during such a strange, tense time due to my parents’ divorce. There was something so riveting in all of those 13 books that Daniel created under his pen name Lemony Snicket. In fact, those books were the catalyst for my interest in creative writing as far as I’m concerned.

I find that I need fiction more than ever as I get older. When I read these made-up stories, I’m able to create idealistic scenes that go along with them as I’m sure a majority of readers do...I mean, that’s gotta be why so many people love fiction; the ultimate escape into another world, right?! There’s nothing quite like getting lost inside the pages of a novel or short story. And the best part of it is that as the reader, you don’t know what or when a certain part will reel you in. All it takes is that chapter, section, paragraph, sentence, or even a single word to click and just like that…a door to a new world opens up in your head. That’s what these two paragraphs did for me recently:

“He came to a gurgling river, a freshwater tributary that fed into the vast loch. The water frothed at the edges for the richness of the minerals in it. It swirled around boulders, and here and there it was thick with schools of brown fish, darting and happy and unbothered. Mungo waded through the waist-deep current; it was colder than the loch, coming fresh off the thawing peaks. He lost his footing on the mossy riverbed and the icy water knocked the breath from him. He jumped and squealed, suddenly very alert, clambering on to the next boulder. He crossed the river and the fat brown fish watched him go.

The trees thinned and he was back at the exposed lochside, far from the men. Mungo walked the shoreline, only stopping to fill his pocket with flat stones for skimming. As he turned a bend the ruins of an old castle stood before him. It rose from the same grey and dun-colored stones of the hills around its pushing up from the granite like a great rift in the earth. It must have once been a proud place, sprawling over several small hills down a peninsula on the lochside. There still stood the three tall walls of a great hall, and another surviving wall had the vague shape of a tower, four or five stories tall, with the narrow slits of arrow embrasures.”

-an excerpt from “Young Mungo” (Douglas Stuart, 2022)

I’ve been exploring this loch in Scotland in my head for the past few days and it has been fucking magical. With no camera in my hands, I’ve taken hundreds of mental photographs all from the comfort of my couch.

Obviously, these idealistic scenes in my head will never be photographed because the scenes simply do not exist. They tend to have the most euphoric, dappled sunlight or slight breeze blowing through trees that creates a mood only a photographer like myself can dream of or get lucky to experience. But you know what…even though these scenes are completely made-up and oftentimes a combination of several references, I still feel that I become a better visual artist when doing these “fictional world” mental exercises.

Fiction enables and encourages my brain to get its creative reps in which in turn make me more receptive to the world around me and all of its possibilities.

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