Hello, Mojo

The word 'mojo' has taken on several meanings throughout history, from the moco medicine men of Cameroon to the amulets and charms of Mississippi African Americans in the 1920's to Austin Powers sex appeal to the Urban Dictionary's definition of self-confidence, self-assuredness and ability to bounce back from a negative attitude (among other things, if you are familiar with the Urban Dictionary).      

Whatever it is, for the past six weeks or so, I had lost mine.  At least when it came to writing.

My lucky charms

Maybe it was the fact that I had just completed a novel that has been my life for the past two years and exhaustion had finally set in.  Maybe I had rubbed my 'mojo's' or lucky charms so much that the magic just wore off.  Maybe I was worried that my writing wasn't good enough, so why bother. Maybe, Maybe, Maybe.

I stared at blank pages day after day, recycled old stories that had been discarded, lit my candles and said my prayers. Nothing. Nada. Nichts. I could barely write a grocery list, much less a story or, heaven forbid, start on the next novel I had in me. 

For all my self-doubt, all my negative thoughts, all my misdirected anger I knew I had to get my mojo back. 

I just didn't know how.  

As Austin Powers would say: Yeah, baby!

It began at The Gun Store in Las Vegas.  For Christmas, I had bought gift certificates to a shooting range for my sons and four of their friends.  They convinced me to go with them, even though I had never shot a gun in my life. I took some of my frustration out on a clown target, and discovered that I actually liked the feel of the gun.  My pen is usually my gun, the tool that allows me a certain release.  I gained some of my self-confidence because as a novice, I wasn't bad at shooting. I didn't hit the target every time, but when I did, that clown quit laughing. I recognized the metaphor.

Then I went 'snowglobing', a term I have to credit my good friend, RWW Greene. Inside a fabulous hotel in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, I could look out at the snow, while inside the characters ran wild.  Five days, outside of my element in a world I could fantasize, play, write, people watch.  A new world. A created world.  Although I was in the company of several old friends, I met new friends, with different experiences and found some inspiration.  It comes from strange places, you know.

Scene from inside the Snow Globe

Last Saturday night, my confidence level shot to an all-time high.  I graduated with my MFA in Fiction from Southern New Hampshire University and was introduced by one of the four men I admire most: The Father, Son, Holy Ghost and Craig Childs. When he introduced me, his first words were "Kelly Stone Gamble kicks ass." Getting praise for your writing from someone like Craig Childs kicks ass.

I came home on an all-time high and again, stared at a blank page.

Then I had an idea and started to type.

 

In three days, I have now written six chapters on a new novel.  Yes, six rough chapters, but my mind is turning  and I pretty much have the story line in my head, and with the help of a friend, have created a few very interesting characters.  I can't wait to see what they do. 

So somewhere between a gun shop in Las Vegas and a snow covered mountain in New Hampshire, I found my mojo; and it's working overtime.

Or maybe it isn't mojo at all. Maybe I just needed to get out of the ordinary, needed a little change.

 Maybe I just needed something to relight that fire.

For the Love of Research

Last week, I stated on twitter that I easily do ten hours of research for every one hour of actual writing.  I wasn’t surprised that I heard from six other historical writers that said, ‘yes, that’s about right.’ I also heard from another half dozen writers in various genres who basically said, ‘you must be out of your mind.’ You do have to enjoy your subject and enjoy research in general. You also have to be willing to tuck 90% of what you learned into the Trivial Pursuit folder in your mind, because hours of research may give you one great chapter-or one great paragraph-or just one great line.

But here’s a secret.  Researching can be a lot of fun.  (Shh... Don’t tell, or everyone will start doing it.)

My dive buddy---I had the camera

The site of my upcoming novel, Ragtown, is now under Lake Mead, making it difficult to actually walk the wash area that was once a tent city and home to thousands of Hoover Dam workers and their families. I still wanted to go there.  So I slapped on the dive gear and visited Ragtown-- even donated a set of ankle weights and a dive knife to the site for future researchers to ponder.



Boxing night at the Hard Rock

I have a scene in my novel that revolves around a boxing match. I read everything I could about boxing in the 1930’s, and not saying I am an expert (ask me anything about Ray Sharkey or Max Schmeling), but I learned quite a bit. Still, I needed to ‘be there’ to write the scene effectively.  Luckily for me, I live in Las Vegas, where boxing matches are a dime a dozen.

Not a zoomed photo

How can you write about the intense yellow eyes of a Bighorn sheep unless you have looked into them?

I write about the prostitutes who worked behind the Railroad Pass Casino in 1931.  The small shacks are long gone, but I felt I needed to walk the path from the casino that led to 'Whore Row'.  How far was it? What was the view from there? I’m not unfamiliar with walking in the desert and I usually find something interesting that I didn’t expect. Yes, I found the proverbial dead body in the desert that day.

(Sorry, no picture. The Coroner wasn’t thrilled that I asked.)



My most recent adventure? What I call ‘eating rocks.’ I am currently working with Craig Childs, possibly the greatest nature/adventure writer of our time, a man who the New York Times calls “a modern-day desert father.” He bleeds sand and cries cactus juice. He suggested that I ‘taste the desert’, or at least the area near Lake Mead where my story takes place. Be a part of the landscape. Put a river rock in my mouth and see what it feels like.

I was hesitant, even though I knew it would involve a day at the lake, which is hard to say no to. And Craig is brilliant and hasn’t steered me wrong yet.  So I did it.

What happened? I will leave that for my protagonist to explain.

In the meantime, check out the 'modern-day desert father' Craig Childs at his website:

House of Rain