Balancing Life and Writing
It’s a matter of listening to the energy coming
from self, family, and friends so that nothing tips more one way
than the other and the creative juices stay flowing rather than
being depleted by excessive writing and are therefore constantly in
a state of being replenished. I had a music teacher who once told me
to practice or play up to the point that I feel bored, that the
energy for it has been spent, and then to stop for the day. That’s
what I do with writing. I stay with it, hit the page running each
day, and go for as long and with as much intensity as I have for the
scene that I’m writing. Then, I stop. And, if I don’t stop I’ll
have nightmare that night that I’m being seduced and used by the
muse and that such a thing could lead to utter ruination. There are
horror stories about this. Writers in the stories feel the tug to
write, the muse senses that someone is taking the bait and then the
writer is hooked and reeled in. So, if I let myself be hooked and
reeled in then I lose my balance. There is something to being hooked
and reeled of course, but the true and balanced thing of it happens
when it comes from a hook and a reeling that is my own and not one
that causes me to be possessed by something other than my own common
sense. After all, what matters is the living of life, and living a
good one to the best of one’s ability, writing only a part of
that.
About The Author
Paul DeBlassie III, Ph.D., is a psychologist and
writer living in Albuquerque who has treated survivors of the dark
side of religion for more than 30 years. His professional
consultation practice — SoulCare — is devoted to the tending of
the soul. Dr. DeBlassie writes psychological thrillers with an
emphasis on the dark side of the human psyche. The mestizo myth of
Aztlan, its surreal beauty and natural magic, provides the setting
for the dark phantasmagoric narrative in his fiction. He is a member
of the Depth Psychology Alliance, the Transpersonal Psychology
Association and the International Association for Relational
Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy.
Author Links:
Website pauldeblassieiii.com
Blog pauldeblassieiii.blogspot.com
Twitter https://twitter.com/pdeblassieiii
About The Book
Book Genre: Psychological Thriller
Publisher: Sunstone Press
Release Date: August 2013
Book Description:
A young curandera, a medicine
woman, intent on uncovering the secrets of her past is forced into a
life-and-death battle against an evil Archbishop. Set in the mystic
land of Aztlan, "The Unholy" is a novel of destiny as
healer and slayer. Native lore of dreams and visions, shape changing,
and natural magic work to spin a neo-gothic web in which sadness and
mystery lure the unsuspecting into a twilight realm of discovery and
decision.
At
that moment, a howling wind came up. Through the window, Claire saw
dust devils swirling outside, their dance frenzied, grit and grime
spewing every which way as they crisscrossed an endless expanse of
desert. As the window began rattling like a bag of old bones, both
women looked up and saw a large black crow perched on the ledge
outside. It stared at them, then cawed defiantly, unaffected by the
winds.
Elizabeth
bolted upright, eyes wide. “I have to go,” she said, fingers
trembling as she slipped on her shoes, more frightened than Claire
had ever seen her. Claire thought of trying to help her settle down,
but held herself back, not wanting to risk upsetting her further.
“What’s
wrong?” Claire asked, trying to disguise her own sense of unease.
Her words went unanswered.
As
Elizabeth reached the door, she glanced back at the window where the
crow had been. The wind had died down, and the crow had vanished; yet
the dark force of moments past crackled through the atmosphere like
sparks of electricity jumping wildly from shorted wires.
The
hairs on the back of Claire’s neck stood on end. She clenched her
teeth in anticipation of something worse about to happen. A chill
swept through the room as if a ghostly presence had made itself
known. Involuntarily, Claire shook her head as though waking herself
from a bad dream.
“Get
out of here while you can, Claire,” Elizabeth stammered. Her eyes
were wide as the full moon sitting low across a midnight desert
landscape.
“What
are you so afraid of, Elizabeth?” Claire asked, moving forward to
calm her. “Please, talk to me about what’s going on with you.”
Carefully, she placed a hand on her patient’s taut shoulder.
Elizabeth
shrugged it away, saying, “Let go of me.” Claire knew that
Elizabeth could turn on her, becoming violent. Still, Claire inched a
little closer and said, “Elizabeth, I could help if you’d let
me.” But the words seemed futile.
“Help
me? Help yourself! Face what is yours to face,” Elizabeth hissed.
She yanked the door open then forced it to slam behind her.
Claire
stood still for a moment, feeling as if a tornado had swept through
the room. Elizabeth’s demand had left her shaken. She drew a deep
breath, then went to her desk and picked up her tea, noticing her
trembling hands.
Turning
toward the window, Claire saw a muscular orderly accompanying
Elizabeth to the locked ward at the far end of the hospital compound.
A flock of crows circled high overhead, seeming to follow the two
receding figures. As they arrived at the outer doors of the locked
unit, the orderly reached for his keys. The crows circled while the
two crossed the threshold of the unit, Elizabeth suddenly pausing,
turning, and looking outside, her gaze riveted on the flock of birds.
All
but two flew off, disappearing into the piñon-covered hills. The two
that remained came to rest on the red brick wall adjacent to the
locked unit, their black eyes boring into Elizabeth. She looked
panicked then enraged and, shaking a finger at the creatures, yelled
something. Her frantic gestures told Claire that she was screeching
curses to ward off evil.
Claire
took a step back from the window, from the impact of Elizabeth’s
rage. The orderly grabbed Elizabeth roughly by the arm and pulled her
inside. The crows waited, watched, then flew away.
