The week off has ended. Masha's installment, if you recall, covered myth's "half-hidden truths and beautiful mistakes." And Mr. Pond's last-Friday post directed the blogalectic naturally toward discussion of the word mythopoesis:
"Instead, I’m building on Kirstin Jeffrey Johnson’s suggestion that the essence of mythopoesis, or myth-making, is ultimately relational—partly between the characters within the myth, partly and perhaps mostly the tripartite relationship between the tale, the teller, and the hearers."Myth is not made alone. It always entails one heart, one soul, one spirit going out to another or others.
As a writer, especially of fantasy fiction, I feel that truth as I go about making myths for imaginary worlds and people. I give my characters ideals, narratives, things to believe in and trust, because I have such things. But I can't claim even that act of creation as a purely individual event. The myths that set the parameters for my stories are formed in communion between me and the myths I love and live with.
The new myths grow with my development of and love for the characters themselves—my soul-and-ink-and-paper children, whose lack of fleshly existence I sometimes have a hard time remembering. It's frightening, sometimes, how dear those people are to me.
Slightly cuckoo writer's asides aside, however—perhaps the above is why, when I'm passing days at my computer with no one but me and the cat in the house, I rarely feel alone.