This week, we welcome the wonderful Tim Myers to the blog. Tim is an author, a songwriter, and a lover of beautiful words. He has written 16 children’s books, one of which was on the New York Times bestseller list for children’s books and was read aloud on NPR, and several more on the way.
He has also published four books of poetry for adults (with one in press), been nominated for two Pushcarts, and won a prize in the Writers of the Future Contest for Science Fiction/Fantasy. Tim is a Senior Lecturer at Santa Clara University in California.
You can find out more about his work on his website.
I am so excited to have Tim here, and talk about his work, the creative process, the beautiful metaphors we find in children’s books, and so much more. So, without further ado, let’s begin!
Ritu: Hi Tim. Welcome to the blog! It’s so great to have you here. It was so lovely for me to get to know you and your work. I love children’s books. When I moved from India to the States, one of the beloved books I brought with me was something I had been gifted as a child. It has tales of a professor who finds an enchanted flying jacket, a tree that grows shoes, and a “too-good” kid who begins to sprout angel wings.
It’s one of the most wonderful gifts I received as a child, so it’s such a thrill to have a children’s book author here (amongst the many other wonderful things you write). Could you tell us a little bit about yourself and your creative journey until now? How did you start writing? How has this journey morphed and changed over the years?
Tim: I love your passion for children’s books, Ritu! And that book you talk about, with the flying jacket and the rest — intriguing. I thrill to the feeling of being called into a story by meaningful magic. I actually started writing as a child, when on an impulse I wrote a poem for a class assignment that called for a story. Luckily, my teacher responded positively and encouraged me, and that started it all.
I actually became a children’s writer during the five minutes in which I read a picture book to my young sons. By the time I finished the book, I was a children’s writer. The book was Where the Wild Things Are.
Ritu: How wonderful, Tim! So, after meeting you at the Mountain View Library’s Author’s Fair, I read your lovely children’s book The Thunder Egg. It really felt like such synchronicity, both the fact that we had our tables right next to each other at the fair (and so got to talk and connect) and the fact that I picked up The Thunder Egg as the first book to read from all your books.
The Thunder Egg is a tale inspired by Native American folklore and talks about a little girl who feels very different from those around her and who finds a rare thunder egg.
At a certain point in the tale, she has to give up her cherished thunder egg for the good of her people, and when she does this, not only does her egg hatch, the lightning also splits the gray rock she’s known forever and reveals these beautiful purple crystals.
In The Empath’s Journey, I talk about a time after I relocated here to the States when I was getting more and more interested in working with dreams and in Carl Jung’s work. During this time, there was a period when I had dream after dream with purple amethyst crystals in them.
Sometimes, they were growing on the side of the road like flowers and I was walking by. Sometimes, they were in a bag in a marketplace, and again, I was neglecting them, passing them by. Later on, I learned that crystals are considered a symbol of the essential self in Jungian psychology. During that time when I was walking away from the crystals, I was neglecting my true self.
So, it felt like a recognition when I read about your purple crystals in The Thunder Egg! They felt like such an apt metaphor for what was going on in the story — the little girl giving up something she loved but then finding her true self and purpose. Could you talk a little bit about this story, what it means to you, and how you think of these purple crystals?
Tim: That “coincidence” is so beautiful! I’m really grateful to you for sharing that story, since I’m not only moved by your experience, but you’ve also further illuminated for me a story I wrote myself! You and I are on exactly the same wavelength here. No human being should deny (or be forced to deny) his or her truest self. But sometimes the path to your true self is complicated.
Like many of us, the young Cheyenne girl in my story learns a sacred paradox: to become yourself, you usually have to give up some lesser part of yourself. No wonder Jung thought crystals represented the preciousness of true self — and no wonder you dreamed about them!
Ritu: Yes, Jung is so wonderful! And that’s so beautiful: “To become yourself, you usually have to give up some lesser part of yourself.” Are there any other symbols or archetypal tales that you feel a kinship to, Tim? As artistes, we are always drawing from the realm of images, that realm beyond words. I have always, for some reason, loved spiders. I find spider webs so beautiful.
A few years ago, when I learned that spiders are considered the keepers of the primordial alphabet in the Native American tradition and are a talisman for writers, it felt so meaningful!
It almost felt like these symbols we love or identify with have clues hidden inside them. They are telling us something about our own self. Another symbol that I love is the turtle. In terms of stories, at one point, I think I was the Little Match Girl who wastes all her matches and instead dreams about warmth (thankfully, no longer!)
Are there any symbols or stories that you feel or have felt a special affinity to?
Tim: Thanks for teaching me that about spiders — I’m especially drawn, actually, to the idea of a primordial alphabet, and I didn’t know that tradition. There are MANY symbols that particularly draw me. I do a lot of visual art, and I love the shining star/sun figure so much that I have to keep myself from over-using it.
And like you, there’s a particular creature that, for half-rational and half-mysterious reasons, just gets to me, forever attracts me: the hummingbird. And in parallel with you, I learned somewhere along the way that the Nazca people of Peru believed (believe?) that hummingbirds are messengers from the mountain gods. This filled me with ecstasy. I believe that many particular things — well, the universe itself — are intermediaries between us and the Divine.
Ritu: I think so too! And wow! There’s another synchronicity there. I talk about a hummingbird who used to come and visit me in The Empath’s Journey too. Hummingbirds are a symbol that speaks to me as well.
Could you also talk a little bit about your creative process? Is it different for different kinds of writing? To me, it feels like children’s books embody this feeling of joy and discovery that is special. It’s almost like touching a place of wonder (although science fiction also touches a similar kind of place). Could you give us a sneak peek into one of your books and how that story was written?
One way of framing the writing process that I really like is by George R.R.Martin who talks about how all writers are a combination of the gardner and the architect, but with a decided preference towards one.
The gardeners know what seeds they are planting, how much land they have and the fact that they need to nurture their seed for it to grow. Architects, as the name suggests, have a detailed blueprint and then build methodically.
I was around 70% gardener and 30% architect when I wrote The Empath’s Journey. I like this framing more than the usual “plotters” versus “pantsers” because gardener feels a lot more intentional to me than “pantsing.”
Gardeners work more loosely, but they do know what seed they are planting, whether they are growing tomato plants or planting an orange orchard. Where do you fall on this spectrum?
Tim: It’s fascinating to me that, as you suggest, different forms of art feel different in their inception. I work in many fields (too many, in fact, but I can’t help that). One reason I’m drawn to different fields is that I find different parts of myself simply won’t stop pushing to be expressed. There are many things I want to express, and some call out to be written (and even within writing there are, of course, many different genres!).
Others call out to be made into songs, others into visual artwork. One of my main rules is that I never say no to the Muse. So I let things come out the way they want to come out.
I hadn’t heard of Railroad’s gardener/architect thing — a very helpful way of looking at it. In terms of process, it turns out, I’m the same as I am with genre: Some work of mine is pure gardening, other work is pure architecture (like the novel series I’m working on right now), and some is a mix.
Ritu: That’s so interesting! That makes sense. I think every book has a different energy that the writer flows with. I can see how different books require a gardener or an architect approach although I do think we also have a tendency towards one or the other.
So, you are a very prolific writer (I am sure you have been told this before!). You have written lots of work in many different genres.
What has helped you create a body of work that has both quality and quantity? How do you strike this balance? Was your relationship with your creativity always this easy and flowing? Is there something about creativity that you’ve understood better as you have grown as an artiste?
Tim: It’s a funny thing about being prolific. For one thing, it’s not necessarily a positive. There are unhinged people who write reams and reams of worthless stuff. I guess what I’m saying is that my prolificness seems to be more about who I am as a person; I just love the act of expression, and it gives me a continual and often incandescent joy.
The quality of my work, on the other hand, is more about me as an artist, a craftsman. I work very hard at that. I love your suggestion that this is a matter of balance. Over time I’ve learned to trust my instincts — to just let things flow — but then to call up my inner craftsman and go over everything, multiple times, with a fine-toothed comb. That’s the balance.
Ritu: Yes, sometimes, we are the artiste, and sometimes, the craftsman (or woman!). I also have a philosophical question for you. I have always wanted to write fantasy and children’s books. The books I feel a kinship to are books like The Little Prince, classic tales like The Ugly Duckling, and the Harry Potter series. I always thought I would write children’s books (and I will, God willing).
But I think, in the past, there have been times in my life when I felt like I was growing so skeptical (and who can get more skeptical than an idealist 🙂 ) that fantasy and fiction almost felt like lies to me. That’s why my first book turned out to be a memoir about high sensitivity and not a fantasy as I’d always thought it would be.
I have circled back since then and can see how fiction can help tell an even deeper truth than nonfiction. But for artists who are getting jaded by the world and about the role of storytelling in our day-to-day lives, what would you tell them? How can a sense of wonder and mystery feel real to us when the world gets harsher and harsher?
Tim: Wow. You hit the nail on the head, Ritu. I don’t know if it’s because of all that’s going wrong in the world just now, including the terrible things Trump is doing, or if I’m simply more politicized and aware than I’ve been in the past — but I’m continually challenged by exactly what you’re describing.
I think it’s important to keep certain things in mind. First, historical periods vary, and our nation — like any culture or nation — goes through more difficult times and then relatively easier times. The Trump Era won’t last forever (though I think real damage is being done), and in the end, it’s going to wake a lot of people up to things they didn’t want to think about. And that’s good.
I also remind myself that bad news is very, very loud. Millions of people today are leading beautiful, generous, compassionate lives, trying to make the world a better place–and that rarely makes headlines. I remind myself to write those headlines every day in my heart. And I couldn’t agree more with your point about what I call “transrealist” stories. They can be the beautiful lies that tell the truth.
Ritu: I so agree, Tim! Fiction really is the beautiful lie that tells the truth. And I agree. There are lots of people leading beautiful lives, and that rarely makes it into the headlines. As artists, we need to remember that and not get swept in all the chaos that’s coming up nowadays.
You and I also share a love of language. It was really important for me to write not just a good book, but a book that has beautiful language (not hard-to-understand words but language that flowed).
One of the best compliments I have received until now is from my husband. When he read the final manuscript of The Empath’s Journey, one of the things he told me was that the words sounded right. They felt right.
You talk about the sounds of words as well. You talk about how kids love words that sound a certain way. You are also a songwriter and a poet.
Could you talk about the connection between words and music? Do you sound out your words when you write? Picture books are read aloud, but do you also do this for other kinds of writing?
Tim: I love this question — and you’re so right about how we share this! I began writing as a poet and will never stop writing poetry. And one of my deepest motivations for that is, as you say, a simple love of the power of words, in terms of pure aesthetics.
It’s one reason I’m a song-writer too — I can’t resist the power of rhythm, and melody only serves — when it’s done right — to bring out even more forcefully the “colors” of words. I LOVE that you’d feel so complimented by your husband’s observation that your book “sounded right”! In all my work — with the exception of most of my visual art — I’m focusing on some aspect of the sound and colors/tastes of words.
Picture books, as you point out, are written as sound, and I see them as very close genre-wise to poetry. My most-silent, read-only-in-the-head fiction is still about rhythm and verbal texture. And in songwriting, I can make it all tangible in the most intense physical way.
Ritu: I had never thought of it quite like that. But that’s so true. Picture books are very close genre-wise to poetry. How interesting!
So, what motivates you as a writer, Tim? I used to think that all writers are similar. But now, I think we all have all these varied archetypes and different feelings that pull us forward.
Mystery writers feel more like detectives and puzzle-makers to me. Some writers I know think of themselves as communicators, so language is not such a priority for them. Saying what they want to say is.
I think of myself as an artiste. Beauty is very important to me — not superficial beauty, but the kind of beauty that makes life beautiful.
Connection is also very important. More than just achievement, I think connecting with people is what’s most gratifying to me. What pulls you? What makes you feel that writing is worth it and that it makes life more meaningful?
Tim: Such a great point, Ritu. Writers are as human — and varied — as anyone else. I especially appreciate your observation that some writers, in fact, just aren’t as interested in the aesthetics of vocabulary and syntax as others of us are. (Don’t get me wrong — I love some of those writers too).
When it comes to my motivation, I’d have to say it has a lot of breadth and depth. I don’t see much actual difference between living and making art — they feel almost the same to me — creative expression is as natural as breathing.
So I make art for a huge variety of reasons, some more rational and easy to understand, some mysterious. Beauty and connection are absolutely right there at the center of what drives me. And I feel a relentless, unspeakably fulfilling imperative to express realities I can only describe as an ineluctable mix of the physical and the spiritual.
Ritu: Yes, that’s so true. Art is about connecting the sacred and the human. And I agree. Creating is actually as natural as breathing. That’s why there is so much creativity in the world!
It was so great to have this conversation, Tim! It was such a pleasure. I know we only covered a little slice of your incredible body of work. But I hope this gave readers a little taste of your work and some insight into you as a creative person.
Is there something else you might like to add that I haven’t touched upon here? Also, where can people find you? What’s the best way to connect with you?
Tim: I’d just like to add that I’ve loved this too, Ritu — especially for the very unique way you go about it! Most interviewers simply ask the questions, more or less — and that works great. But you’ve made this a true conversation, and I’m honored and grateful that you’d share so much of yourself and your feelings and thoughts. It was like sitting down with you and having a good heart-to-heart!
Ritu Thank you, Tim! That means a lot. You can find out more about Tim and his work on his website.
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