What I Wrote on 12.12
Exploring the plot forest + Cocteau's "It" . . .
Hello everyone—it’s good to be back.
This essay will unfold slowly, but I hope you’ll stay with it, as I replicate the path that carried me from an assortment of interconnecting experiences to a deep realization about Tarot.
Or at least about “my” Tarot.
We begin with a quick look back to last month, when I started a long post, but didn’t get to publish it right away. So it appeared this way, a few days later:
It was an announcement of sorts, intended to begin a transition that would change EP to an occasional free post, rather than the more formal publication I’d been trying to create/maintain/grow.
At the time, I intended to wrap up most of my intended posts over the subsequent couple of weeks—and I made quite a bit of progress!
That November 22 post was a sort of status report, looking ahead to how I would complete planned activities. But the plan was obviously not what happened.
So on 12.12 (I love all double numbers, not just 11 and 22!) I started an update post—and here’s what I wrote that day . . .
. . .
I’ll start by welcoming new readers. For some of you this will be the first EP email to reach your Inbox, so I want to offer a little context.
EP is in a state of transition—and I haven’t quite determined what shape it will be taking next. But I plan to publish several more issues in what’s left of this year. Among other things, I’ll be suggesting resources and readables that I think would interest EP readers.
For those who’ve been following EP longer, I want to catch up a previously mentioned item. The eye surgery I expected at the end of November had to be rescheduled, so that’s now happening in mid-January. And I’m determined to have all my ducks in the proverbial row by then—including several Tarot projects!
But I’m getting a later start than I planned because—since the last EP post—I’ve lost someone very dear to me. That process (before, during, since) has given me a lot to think about—and has provided a distant but relevant background for what I’m writing today.
The Forest
For several years, I’ve been working on a narrative nonfiction book called The Constance Project. If you’re curious about it, I have a private Substack site that gives a little more information.
A few months ago, I realized I have all the content for that book—but despite many drafts, I hadn’t figured out how to tell the story effectively. There really is a compelling story, but so far my drafts haven’t made it come alive.
This project began with a tiny seed of information, and turned into a process of deep research that spiraled through many points at which I thought I’d finally got to the essence, only to find out (often prompted by serendipity) that there was more to be discovered.
I occasionally thought about similarities with the process of reading Tarot, which for me requires the same kind of intense concentration, as well as the same spiraling movement. And I occasionally noticed how the characters in the story (who were real people, not authorial creations) seemed to align in personality with certain Tarot figures. For example—there’s a romantic triangle in which I think anyone reading about it from a Tarot perspective would recognize that the two women are perfect reflections of The Empress and The High Priestess.
Seriously. Perfect.
But that’s not where I’m headed in this essay. Instead, we begin with my decision to sit in on a few free workshops about fiction writing. I thought that might help me develop the story-telling skills I needed to break through on The Constance Project.
Which turned out to be a correct assessment. But it also turned out that I was drawn into what I now think of as the “writing subculture.”
It’s a sprawling maze of courses, groups, webinars, workshops, mentors, bundles, challenges, tools, ebooks, and more. My path into this world came by way of an annual online event called “Escaping the Plot Forest.” It’s the type of virtual event now called a “summit,” in which various providers offer webinars, which can be viewed free for a day or two. There are as many as ten of these every day for several days, as well as community discussion sessions. Attendees also have the option to purchase an event pass, in order to to own all the replays and watch “forever.”
Here’s another quick Tarot association. As far as I know (correct me if I’ve missed something), there’s nothing similar for Tarot, and I think it would be great if someone put on a Tarot summit event. It’s obviously a lot of work, but there are some very good tools available for summit management. I’d love to attend!
But back to the “Plot Forest.” This event is put on very skillfully by Daniel David Wallace, and if you’re even remotely interested in writing, check out his other offerings.
In this instance, I enjoyed the forest metaphor, which offered a “fairy tale” vibe and invited creative engagement. Along the summit path, I took advantage of every freebie, signed up for every email list, and generally exploited my free passage through the world of fiction-writing.
I ended up with many takeaways, but here’s the most relevant one for today’s essay: there are quite a few people providing “writer services” at a prodigious pace. And there are many people who spend a decent amount of money in this area.
Some of what’s offered is related to craft—and there are a lot of serious students out there doing a lot of writing. There are professionally oriented courses on pitching, getting published, and so on, along with inspiration, education, and advice on writing fiction and memoir, building an author platform—etc., etc.
However . . . there’s also a large subset of writer services that seem to involve a large component of moral support. There are a lot of offerings intended to alleviate “imposter syndrome,” combat “writer’s block,” and assure timid writers that their books, stories, and poems are worth writing or finishing.
I’ve been surprised to find such a large number of people who (a) want to be writers, and (b) seem to be pretty far from actually achieving their goals. I’m also intrigued by the range of services and approaches available to them—from careful hand-holding to kick-in-the-pants coaching.
The result of all my investigations (for today’s purpose) falls into three baskets:
I think there’s room for a different approach, so I’m starting a new Substack newsletter called The Misfit Writer. (If you’re interested in writing—and don’t mind identifying as a “misfit”!—I’ll be sharing more information soon.)
I wonder if there are aspiring Tarot readers who suffer from “imposter syndrome.” I’m not going to say a lot about this except that I think anyone who wants to work with Tarot is instantly qualified to do so.
In reading about all these eager writers and the thriving marketplace for coaching and courses, I feel not exactly guilty, but at least self-critical. Why don’t I write more than I do???
As usual, serendipity (or synchronicity, depending on how you look at it), provided a clue to answering that last question. And it’s a clue that also helped me formulate my thoughts about Tarot in a newly concise way.
Some Trees
Every Sunday I get this in my Inbox:
This venerable (and somewhat expensive) literary magazine “unlocks” one of its classic interviews every Sunday—and I’ve been surprised over time to find how often there’s some sort of Tarot connection.
Sometimes it’s direct, as in this one, where the author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest talks about his interest in Tarot:
Or one about Tarot’s best-known literary figure, Italo Calvino—sketched out here:
Sometimes there’s not a direct connection—just the start of a journey that ends up with a Tarot connection. Like an interview with popular food writer Jane Stern, who (as it turns out) has long been involved with Tarot, and in 2012 published a combination memoir and Tarot manual, titled Confessions of a Tarot Reader.
As you might have guessed by now, it was The Paris Review Redux that recently brought me new clarity, with the beginning of this 1964 interview with the French surrealist—novelist, poet, playwright, filmmaker—Jean Cocteau:
I don’t put myself in the category of a Cocteau, let’s be clear. But I do have exactly the same experience—in two ways . . . .
On 12.12, when I wrote that last sentence, it wasn’t meant to be a cliff-hanger! But my right shoulder occasionally says “stop” to any more typing, and this wasn’t the sort of story I thought would work well for dictation.
So—here I am a few days later, continuing the original train of thought. The first way I had in mind was specifically about writing. I come up with many ideas, and often start writing a story—then just stop. Sometimes a story will be around in draft for weeks, or even longer. It might be just a sketch, or almost finished.
When I see these drafts, I fault myself for starting too much and finishing too little. Or for being a perfectionist who takes too long to reach the point when a story seems ready (worthy?) to publish.
Both things are true in general. But I’m thinking now that in some cases my own “It” (like Cocteau’s) just doesn’t think the time is ripe yet.
The second way I had in mind is more specifically about Tarot. And if you’ve read my Tarot Manifesto, this may not come as a surprise.
In the past, when I did a great many divinations with Tarot, my method was to listen for “It.” I didn’t use that terminology, but in retrospect, it seems perfect. And looking at this—via Cocteau—from the Surrealist perspective, gives me additional insight into why there are noteworthy connections with Tarot from Surrealist artists like Leonora Carrington and Alejandro Jodorowsky. (Here’s another Paris Review connection.)
This post is already quite long, so I’ll try to weave these threads forward in the next few days. Along with a tour of what I discovered by using the magic search words: Cocteau + Tarot.
Happy to be with you again—and as always, thanks for reading. C
When I discovered I was a Master Number 11 I began to take my tarot cards much more seriously. It is so fascinating the story they can tell you if only you tap into that inner voice and gut feeling, also known as intuition. Your substack is fascinating! Looking forward to read more.
I think the Tarot came of age (so to speak) during the French occult revival and the later “Belle Epoch” so it makes sense it has absorbed the French flare, or at least appearance of French like the Paris Review. That is an epoch of Tarot’s history that I like a lot, the later part of the 19th Century in France. I think the problem then is like the problem now, which is disenchantment, and the Tarot is a pathway back to some kind of enchantment, like fairytales. Serendipity is a little like enchantment. It’s when we realize for an instant that all is not lost.