November, perfume and writing inspiration...

So, November has arrived and we are tiptoeing closer and closer to the chill of winter. November 1st is also the start of something else, the epic writing challenge which is NaNoWriMo. This year will be my third year attempting NaNoWriMo which, to clarify is the attempt to write a first draft of 50,000 words between November 1st and 30th. It's a breathtaking and thrilling thing to do (as is the necessary editing to make those 50,000 words readable after November).

Certainly, during this month it is utterly necessary to keep up one store of inspiration and enthusiasm. I know many writers like to keep themselves motivated with a suitable playlist of writing music. However, I am rarely inclined to write to music (if the music is integral to the story I wish to tell that is a different matter, whilst writing an opera inspired story I had the beautiful La Traviata playing on a loop). For me, it is perfume which provides much of my inspiration.
More than that, without giving too much away I will say that the title of my NaNo novel and many of the character and place names within take direct inspiration from perfumery. Notes have become names and perfumes have become destinations.

It's a method which suits the story I wish to tell very well on this occasion. The settings, market places and palaces, are rich in scents and smells. The characters I am writing about would never dream of taking a bath without dropping in a little perfume or sitting down to eat a meal without ensuring that it has been lightly seasoned and spiced with rare and luxurious new flavours. In short, I am attempting to create an opulent atmosphere. Though, I am afraid that I am guilty of rather opulent writing on all occasions, perhaps, even verging upon the dreaded purple prose).

So, in aide of inspiration, today I am drenched (lightly) in Ambre Imperial from Van Cleef and Arpels, a peppery sweet amber scent with a smoky edge. It's a perfume as exotic and romantic as the atmosphere I am currently trying to write. Heart notes of vanilla conjure rich  plates of dessert, woody notes in the base suggest a winter fire roaring whilst the snow falls outside, the fleeting fresh scent of bergamot in the top notes brings to life a splendid, sun draped summers day when, perhaps, words of love will be whispered between main characters.
     It's the perfect perfume for today's writing; and, tomorrow, another perfume will take it's place as inspiration. For now, however, I must return to my writing...

Capturing a mood...

Once again this week I am wrestling with the short story. No specific short story but rather the genre as a whole. I love reading short stories, don't get me wrong, they are utterly beautiful works of economy which should be more widely available (it's a tragedy how few magazines and newspapers outside of the literary sphere publish short stories these days and an equal tragedy that so many genre magazines which do have to reach out for crowdfunding).

No, my specific problem with short stories is with writing them. I want to, I love to but they seem to either stick firmly on the page and work or swell hopelessly towards a less than satisfactory conclusion before I stick them in the drawer (often metaphorically since so much writing takes place on computers these days) to return to when I am ready. Well, this week, I decided to pull out a few and rework them, clearing the desk before NaNoWriMo begins in November (yes, I do do NaNo but we'll come to that in a later post). I had ideas for endings and plans drawn up. All I had to do now was get myself into the right mood for rewriting, which meant getting myself into the crisp Autumnal mood which pervades so many of my stories, no matter what time of year I write them in. This seasonal repetition may have something to do with the fairy tale influence I spoke of a few weeks ago for in the land of fairy tale it is almost always Autumn or Winter, the leaves or the snow are always falling, the land is in the midst of a perpetual transformation.

Conjuring a mood for writing is not dissimilar to conjuring the mood of a character, after all, when one writes, one writes from within the world ones characters inhabit. The autumn leaves which crunch beneath their feet are leaves from your own memory, the hot spiced tea they drink you drank once; for those elements which one cannot experience first hand, a visit to the Great Exhibition or life in Stuart England one must plunge into research and imagination until you feel confident enough to imagine the scent of smoggy air, the exhilaration of seeing new inventions, the feel of velvet doublet and hose.

Tea is always a good place to start when getting into a warm writing mood, Assam, Chai, English Breakfast: whichever you pick you are bound to need a boundless supply beside you as you write (unless you favour coffee), scent is just as important: but I would say that, with my love of perfume. When I spoke of Gothic writing I said I could well imagine my character's wearing YSL Opium or L'Artisan's Fou d'Absinth because they fitted with their personalities, but the perfume of autumn may be even more subjective, heavy and rich, crisp and spicy, the scent holds the memories of the season or of the season as you've fictionalised it. So, I plucked one story from the pile and tried to imagine what that setting would smell like: a small European village at the end of the 19th Century. A village trying to carve out a place for itself as a desirable holiday destination with a twist.
The perfumes I came up with were: Etat Libre d'Orange's Like This, a perfume of Pumpkin, musk, and Spice inspired by the beautiful Tilda Swinton and designed to capture "a magic potion of home"  . It's a beautiful scent which one can easily imagine wafting through cottage windows, out of inns and from bonfires where sweet treats were roasted and toasted.  The orange spiciness of Chanel's Coco, the incense of Caron's Parfum Sacre and the woody warmth of Penhaligon's Hammam Bouquet added the intense and ancient aroma of the castle overlooking the village. All those centuries of cedar wood fires and ladies arriving for dinner parties in the latest fashionable blend must have sunk into the tapestries on the walls and lingers in the smooth wood floors. Even when abandoned the castle, I imagined, would have been busy accumulating scents, indolic jasmine, lavender from the gardens; all waiting to flood into the nostrils of anyone who opened the door and stepped inside.

A spray of each, a little tea, a moment to absorb the mood and...

The scented spell woven by the perfumes worked and I was soon typing away, weaving new scenes and sharpening others. At the end of all of this, the short stories I was working on are nearly completed and there are ideas for two or three more maturing in my notebooks. Colder winter short stories which will require their own perfumes.