(Jane Wyman and Rock Hudson in Magnificent Obsession. Here.)
I’m sorry this is a bit late. I’d planned on
finishing it yesterday but life intervened.
I’m a big believer in obsessions.
Let’s be clear about what I’m talking about. I’m
not talking about stalking celebrities or standing on a street corner screaming
government conspiracies. My view is that a good, healthy obsession is about
things that exist. Things that are real. Celebrities are essentially folklore
fiction based, only in part, on actual people. Government conspiracies are
fabrications derived from someone’s wish fulfillment—except those times when
they aren’t, of course.
Nor am I talking about mental illness such as
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Though I do believe in the idea that all mental illness derives from normal brain functions gone awry. (See here for a good review.) OCD
must, therefore, derive from a normal activity that has become dysfunctional.
This is a fairly hopeful doctrine since it holds that there is a vast amount of
common ground between the “normal” functioning brain and the not-so-normal
functioning brain. Worthy of a discussion in and of itself but that is for
another time.
What I mean by the word obsession is a deep and consuming interest in something that is
real.
We’ve all encountered this whether it is from the
odd Grandpa who collects teacups or Aunt that will repetitively talk your ear
off all afternoon about the exploits of her ancestors or grandchildren.
Subtracting out those who are merely using their subjects for
self-aggrandizement what’s left is a coterie of people who are genuinely
consumed by an interest in their subjects. Birders are a good example. Amateur
astronomers are another.
For my own part, over the years I’ve been obsessed
with the music of the band Yes,
Hatsune Miku, kites, Johann Bach, Stirling engines, energy recovery, the nine
symphonies of Beethoven, the works of James Elroy, whitewater rafting, the
works of James Jones, animal cognition, consciousness, the works of JosephCampbell, the pornography industry, Parzival, physics, Missouri state history, teapots,
neurophysiology, evolution and religion. Some obsessions have been over in a
week or a month. Some have endured for decades—I’m just as obsessed with
evolution now as I ever was.
And I talk about it. I’m one of those people who
like to talk about these things rather than fuss with them in the dark and wash
my hands afterwards. My wife is very patient.
It’s paid off. My obsession with Hatsune Miku
resulted in the story Sudden, Broken and
Unexpected, which has done quite well. (Review here.) It’s a feature of my writing that
I’m always obsessed with whatever I’m writing about though I rarely talk about it
while I’m writing; I’m too scared of losing steam. Maybe, for me, writing is
the result of the obsession rather than the other way around.
But I find this is a very rewarding way to
proceed. People often ask writers about where they get their ideas—a question
to which many writers are curiously hostile. I can say pretty quickly that my
ideas correlate pretty closely with my obsessions. While I haven’t yet gotten a
story out of kite flying it’s only a matter of time.
There have been moments in my life where these
obsessions took an unhealthy turn. Certain relationships I’d prefer not to
recall leap to mind. I think, though, that for me the distinction was between
obsessing about something that is real
versus something fictive. Those
unfortunate relationships were far more about circumstances I imagined than
about what was actually there.
Further, I like
having these obsessions. I enjoy
delving deeply into something beyond all rational bounds. It’s fun to look at
how Japanese teapots changed over time or trying (and failing) to build
Stirling engines or listening to a piece of music over and over and over again
until the bones of it come clear. Not so
easy on the people around you but that’s where the choice of life partners and
friends becomes really important.
Science is in part obsession in harness. After
all, scientists often pursue minute details for years, teasing out profound
conclusions from the thinnest of data. Consider how long Darwin studied
barnacles. Or Cowan and Reines studies of neutrinos. Implementing software is a
breeze by comparison. You get feedback relatively quickly in minutes, hours or
days. But some experiments take weeks to set up or years to resolve.
So is writing. Imagine a year or two writing about
characters, learning about them and their world, imagining what they’re going
through and who they know, how things happened to them and where they’ll end
up. I find myself watching them (in my head. That’s my story and I’m sticking
to it.) for hours. Listening to their conversations. Changing the staging for
this scene or that and seeing what the characters do. Getting it down on paper,
tweaking it and getting it down again. Think about it. Sound familiar?
The critical feature is the subject matter. Spending
an inordinate amount of time learning about and imagining how a female FBI
agent might operate and what stresses she might be under is one thing. Spending
that same amount of time and emotional energy dwelling on the love of Jodie
Foster is quite another.
But with the right subject matter, the proper
cultivation and time and boring your loved ones just the right amount an
obsession can truly bloom into something worthwhile. A novel maybe. Or perhaps
just a collection of teapots.
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