I’m always fascinated by the psychology of story-telling. I came to the formal version of it late (in my early 60s), and have been having a blast exploring how this works as I build novel-length stories.
Looking back, as one does, on how I’ve ended up here, I’m tempted to imply a teleology, that everything thing that came before seduced me onto this path, but that, of course, is an illusion — it’s not a predestination caused by my background, it’s what my new course happens to have had available to draw upon.
And what a useful background it is, my lifelong fascination with, well, anything I could lay my hands on. Adolescence gave me science, folksongs, traditional stories, ballads, some languages, and the shining star of Tolkien in US editions, as well as a lifelong reading obsession. It also gave me some humility with my failure in college at an advanced math career (which incidentally allowed me in compensation to glory in serious access to dead languages, serious music, and a good chunk of Western Civ).
Even more input comes from the things you turn your own hands to, not just those you learn to appreciate. I’ve played several instruments, sung in many formats, shot competitively, fished, knitted, followed foxhunts, built & run small tech firms, etc., etc., etc.
And then, there’s the people you know — family, friends, strangers in trouble, and the folks who inspire: the living and the dead. We live, we suffer, we fear death — all of that pours into our world experience.
Compared to that, a little technical research to ground or inform a story seems like minor work. I have the stories of the past and all my reading and then my own life and work and observations to serve as grist for the mill, and now that I’ve turned it on to produce “story”, I can’t imagine ever stopping.
What falls under your own mill wheels?
Mad Genius Club 
5 responses to “Grist for the Mill”
Almost anything that doesn’t get away fast enough! Back in grad school I was scolded (gently) for still being an omnivore when it came to reading. That was part of why I ended up in a field that gleefully steals, ahem, that is, draws from multiple disciplines.
History, archaeology, geology, trade and industrial history, music, linguistics [bows toward Margaret Ball], religious history, those seem to be the biggies.
Life?
Riding a bicycle everywhere. Knowing the best route to every library within peddling distance.
Horses . . . lessons, ownership and boarding, then doing it myself, then breeding and training . . .
Wobbling about at Uni, trying to figure out what to major in, so getting a bunch of science.
Working in an office. Out of the office with oil wells and seismic surveys.
Buying a house, getting married, moving, pregnancy and childbirth.
Starting small businesses. Volunteering with Boyscouts, PTA, elections. Learning new things (computers!) More new things (Internet!) Working from home.
I’m a late comer to writing (always had stories in my head, mind you) so I had a whole lot of grist, when I discovered the mill.
My father’s career was running a flour milling company. Hard to know foreshadowing until you stumble over it, eh?
All is grist! ”Magic of the Lost God” ensued from a bit of ancient Egyptian culture that persisted in pestering me for decades until I found a bit of 19th century tourist culture and it crystallized.
Watching far too many YouTube videos.
Reading anything I could get my hands on.
A disturbing fascination with human sexuality and psychological outliers, that should have been channeled into something safer like guns or explosives or legal documents.
Understanding far too much of human history to be comfortable with the usual suspects way of historical narratives.