Fiery Starts and the Dark Night of the Soul
The first thing I did when I got to my writing studio was to set it on fire.
Let me backtrack…
IMG DESCR: Bronzed plaque reads “In this studio Edwin Arlington Robinson Worked / From Nineteen Hundred and Fifteen to Nineteen Hundred and Thirty-Four / ‘I Shall Have More to Say When I am Dead.’”
In the fall of 2021 I spent three weeks at MacDowell, an artist residency in Peterborough, New Hampshire. I was assigned to Veltin, which is one of 32 artist studios spread out over 450 acres. Veltin has hosted artists such as Wendy Wasserstein, Leonard Bernstein, Thornton Wilder, and Tommy Orange, among many others, as attested by the tombstones around the studio. Outside the stone cottage is a plaque with a quote by Edwin Arlington Robinson: “I shall have more to say when I’m dead.”
Technically, the fire I started was in the fireplace and a poor excuse for a fire at that. However, it made little difference in terms of the smoke alarm, because I had forgotten to open the flue. Even when I did open the flue, I was unable to turn off the alarm. I couldn’t reach it. The ceiling was too high.
I didn’t know what to do, short of opening the windows to dissipate the smoke. Even if I did want to call maintenance, my cell service in the middle of the woods was spotty. And besides, it was the start of a three-day weekend. I would have had to call the emergency number, dragging someone from his home out to the property. More besides—I didn’t want to be *that* artist. The city slicker who forgot to open the flue and then couldn’t turn off the smoke alarm.
Mortified, I did the only thing that made sense: I scuttled down the footpath that snaked through the forest to the dining hall, pretending it hadn’t happened. After dinner, dessert, and chit-chat with other residents, I returned to my sleeping cottage, which was on a completely different part of the property. Then I tried to get some sleep.
I probably hadn’t set the cottage on fire, I reasoned. After all, it was made of stone. But what if?
Because I have excellent night vision, even in the pitch black of a new moon, I didn’t need to bring a flashlight, which is to say, I didn’t think to bring my phone.
As it turns out, it doesn’t matter how well you can see in the dark if you don’t know where you’re going.
While my night vision is great, my sense of direction is terrible.
IMG DESCR: Path littered with pine needles leads through an autumn forest.
There was a red light in the distance, but it turned out to be another artist studio. This was bad news, not just because it was vacant, but because I hadn’t seen any other studios earlier on my path to the dining hall. I turned back and heard rushing water. Was there a creek on the property? The footpath forked into other paths, and I couldn’t remember which one I had taken previously. At one point I startled an animal. A deer? A bear? Voldemort eating a unicorn, perhaps? It ran off in the opposite direction. It is not a metaphor to be so scared that you jump out of your skin. I was so spooked, I saw stars.
If we were mapping out a novel, this would be the beat called “Dark Night of the Soul”, which comes right after “All is Lost.” I couldn’t go forward. I couldn’t stay where I was. I couldn’t even retrace my steps, because even though I could see where I was going, I couldn’t tell the difference between walking in a circle or walking in a straight line.
It was the perfect time to do something stupid, but sadly, there was nothing stupid left for me to do.
And that’s when I heard it. A faint beep. Soft, shrill, persistent. Seven seconds later, another beep.
The smoke alarm.
The audial breadcrumbs led me back to Veltin. As I turned my key in the lock, I said to the darkness, “Please don’t scare me.”
Once inside, the ceiling didn’t seem so high anymore. In fact, I noticed that the smoke alarm was just above the bookcase. Which, as every toddler knows, can be scaled. I climbed the side of the bookcase, disabled the alarm, and climbed back down again.
Then I started another fire and sat down to write.
#truestory #donttellmacdowell