I finished a new novel earlier in the year and, for the first time in a long time, I’m taking some time to figure out what’s next while it starts an uncertain journey through the publishing process.
Do I want to write a sequel? Try one of those million ideas I have on the back burner? Set novels aside and write a screenplay? Who knows.
I’m trying to hold off on pushing myself to decide. Partly because I need a creative break, but partly because it’s time to recharge by finding fresh ingredients for future inspiration.
That’s why I am stepping into a Raccoon Phase, one of those crucial periods as an artist where you’re focused mainly on collecting whatever shiny objects come across your path.
Why you need a Raccoon Phase
A good Raccoon Phase will leave you primed for originality, and it’s one of the best defenses against writing something derivative.
There is only one real “rule” to have the best possible Raccoon Phase: Collect without judgment.
Why do you find this thing shiny? Who knows! Who cares! Don’t even think about it. You just find it shiny. Go with it. Collect it and bring it back to your lair.
Remember, you’re a raccoon. It’s okay to dive into a trash can now and then, aesthetically speaking.
And sure, you might always watch new shows and read new books, even while you’re creatively productive, but here’s what separates passively watching and a Raccoon Phase: Pay attention to what it is that’s attracting you. See if you can tease out what’s truly catching your eye.
You might find serendipity in your discoveries and make unexpected connections… or not. That’s okay too. But really paying attention to what’s attracting you to the shiny objects can lead you to even shinier objects, particularly when you’re finding unexpected combinations.
Chase those rabbits! You never know where they’re going to take you.
Raccoon Phases collect seeds for future inspiration
Without giving away any spoilers, my most recent novel includes such varied ingredients as pirates, whales, stained glass, the systemic impacts of capitalism, player pianos, and ancient astronomy. (I swear it all comes together).
But… why all those things? Mostly because I got really into those topics during previous fallow periods.
I’ve been completely fascinated by whales ever since a whale watching trip when I was a teenager, and when a friend got me a journal with a whale on it during the pandemic, I was like “huh maybe I should write something with a whale in it.” I dove deep into the history of capitalism–and particularly how intertwined it was with slavery–in anticipation of a trip to Ghana last summer. And… I just really like stained glass, which was re-ignited with all the incredible Arts and Crafts architecture on display in Pasadena, such as the Gamble House.
For this Raccoon Phase? I’m probably one of the few people in America alternating between Emily Henry’s Beach Read and Adam Shatz’s new biography on Frantz Fanon. I rewatched Anthony Minghella’s The Talented Mr. Ripley (amazing! holds up!) and the new Ripley on Netflix (beautiful to look at and that’s about it!). I watched the remastered Let It Be documentary and chased it with A Hard Day’s Night. I’m listening to “Diamond Jubilee” by Cindy Lee, very incredibly only available via a Geocities page.
I have literally no idea where any of this is going to lead, and I already can’t wait to discover new shiny objects I can collect with my beady little raccoon eyes.
The more varied your inspirations, the less likely you are to imitate
I can tell you with great confidence that there’s not another middle grade novel on the market that includes pirates, whales, stained glass, the systemic impacts of capitalism, player pianos, ancient astronomy, and all the other little weird things I included. Who in the heck would even try that, apart from me?
Particularly when you’re just starting out writing novels, it’s so hard to avoid feeling like you’re imitating. You have your favorite authors in your head, and it can take a while to write your way to a voice and plot that really feel like they’re yours and yours alone.
To me, the quickest route to originality is to focus on what you like. Not what you think people want to read, not what you think the market wants, not trying to paint by numbers, not writing an approximation of a bestseller, no, your weird shiny objects, the ones that no one else can combine but you.
Even better when that inspiration comes from outside the world of books, TV/movies, and storytelling in general.
What have you found in a previous Raccoon Phase, and what’s catching your eye these days?
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Art: Raton laveur by Charles Dessalines d’Orbigny
Oh my gods, I love this so much! Did you come up with this very specific description of an artist’s journey/way of living in the world/be open to inspiration? It’s awesome! I’m wanting to hear more about the whale trip. I saw somewhere recently (Instagram?) about some whale visiting excursion in Baja, Mexico. Little boats go out and you let the whales come and visit you if they want to. A gentle and eco friendly whale watching thing. It looks so extraordinary and I want to do it. That and trying to hang with the sea iguanas off the coast of the Galapagos Islands. If only I didn’t hate flying and also feel guilty about flying. And capitalism.
Will you someday take a midwest tour of Prairie Architecture and get in more stained glass viewing? There’s a lot of Frank Lloyd Wright in the midwest.
I’ve seen those videos too! Perhaps someday. Right now I’m trying to figure out how to see sperm whales, which only hang out reliably in a few places around the world. Hopefully this year.
And yes, I need to see more of the midwest Frank Lloyd Wright!
Brilliant. And fun!
Thank you for this post. I’ve been resting, exploring, even just sitting around and thinking, and feeling kind of bad about it, like I’m wasting valuable time by not writing. But I think you’re right, I’m collecting—ideas, words, pictures, and a lot of junk that will probably never get into a story. And I like the word “raccoon” to describe this period much more than I like “fallow.”