On Writing: The Mythic Journey and Answering the Call to Adventure

I have reached the point in my work-in-progress where the hero Chip has chosen not to enter the place of safety, preferring freedom to security, and he won’t be succumbing to the lure of safety until the third time it is offered. (Three is a very mythical number if mythicism can be said to have degrees.) Now that Chip is mostly alone in the world, however, I’m not quite certain what to do with him. For him to become willing to give up his freedom, he has to undergo many ordeals, and the dangers need to escalate. I know I can create these situations, but they should have an underlying feeling of cohesiveness, otherwise they will appear as a series of unrelated incidents that go nowhere. After my last blog post and the realization that my work-in-progress is starting to follow the mythic journey template, I thought I’d check the template to see if it offers a solution.

The mythic journey begins in the ordinary world, which is the way my work-in-progress begins.

The second stage in the format is the call to adventure. I suppose the ending of the world qualifies; you can’t find anything more unsettling and disturbing than that. The choice to enter the place of safety is another call to adventure, for Chip doesn’t know what will await him, but it’s also the antithesis of the call to adventure in that he is being called to safety not danger.

The third stage is the refusal of the call. The refusal is supposed to show the hero’s fear, his need to be cajoled, the riskiness of the adventure. But if the call isn’t dangerous, does Chip’s refusal to enter the safety zone qualify for the third step? He is confronting the great unknown, so perhaps his choosing freedom and danger isn’t as noble as I think it is. Perhaps he is choosing the known over the unknown. Either way, he prefers to stay where he is.

Traditionally, the hero cannot achieve his or her full potential without accepting the call and the risks that come with it. Choosing to accept the call does not guarantee the hero’s success, for the road is long and treacherous. But for Chip, refusing the call is the long and treacherous time. Still, in the mythic world, opposites often lead in the same direction, so I will presume the lessons learned are the same.

Many influences come into play to get the hero to answer the call, such as a change in circumstance and offenses against the natural order of things. These Chip will have, and they will help him redefine his objectives. Readers also like to see the hero’s reluctance overcome, and the stiffer the reluctance, the more they enjoy seeing it worn down. Perhaps that’s my answer. Maybe I need to have readers hoping Chip will opt for safety, make them an accomplice in his choice so they will have a stake during the other nine stages of the journey. To do this, I will need a character that stands in for the reader, which means Chip can’t go it alone.

This brings us to the next stage of the mythic journey: the meeting with the mentor. A mentor helps prepare the hero for the coming adventure, giving him advice and gifts. A mentor would certainly give this part the cohesiveness it lacks, and it would also give life to what would otherwise be simply a string of ordeals.

So there it is, the solution to my problem: a mentor.

A nice irony: in my mythic journey as a writer, I always hoped to find a mentor, one who would help me overcome the problems I encounter. Who would have thought I’d find this mentor in my own blog?

The Mythic Journey: Star Wars, Tin Cup, and Me

New writers often rail against formulas and rules in an attempt to find their own voice, but the rules of good writing and storytelling need not be formulaic. Nor do formulas themselves need to be formulaic.

The most prevalent formula for writing fiction is the mythic journey, and two of the most obvious examples of this template are The Wizard of Oz and Star Wars. Does anyone doubt that these two movies tell the same story? Yet the mythic journey is not always so obvious. Tin Cup, far from the plots and contrivances of The Wizard of Oz and Star Wars, follows the same basic structure as they do and is equally mythic.

The movie begins in Roy McAvoy’s ordinary world, a driving range. The main call to adventure comes when his friend Romeo suggests that Roy enter the U.S. Open. Roy refuses the call, not wanting to change his ways, but he agrees when he realizes it is a way of catching the interest of the woman he loves. The woman and Romeo act as Roy’s mentors, helping him prepare for the game. He crosses the threshold into the extraordinary world when he enters the U.S. Open. As in any mythic journey, other archetypical characters (non-stereotypical but recognizable) accompany the hero Roy and help, hinder, and cheer him along the way.

Roy wants to change, and he prepares for and passes first one test and then another. Then comes the big moment, the mythic moment. He fails the final test, losing the U.S. Open, but wins his personal quest. He makes the shot he knows he can make, and he returns to the ordinary world with his ladylove. At the end he attempts to figure out what he learned, and recommits himself to another quest, next year’s U.S. Open.

Because of mythic journey formula, Tin Cup is not simply an amusing movie but is the quintessential story: an ordinary person who transforms himself into an extraordinary one.

In my own mythic journey as a writer, I have learned not to be afraid of formulas and rules, but rather to embrace them and make them my own. I hadn’t considered using the mythic journey formula again, since I already used it for my novel Daughter Am I, but my work-in-progress is the story of an ordinary man who is transformed into an extraordinary one, so whether I like it or not, I will be following the formula to a certain extent.

And I do like it. Perhaps it will give my novel a mythic aura. Not a bad quality for any story.