Genius

 

Today’s blog may end up sounding like a graduation speech. Blame the research. As frequently happens, while looking for something else, I ran across a fact that distracted me. The result of this detour was that…

We can all lay claim to genius.

The word “genius” has its roots in ancient Latin. The Romans believed that a deity or spirit watched over each person. Sometimes a spirit also protected a particular place, usually the family residence. In my mind, I picture a beneficent Dobby the house elf. I think it’s more accurate to the word origins, however, to equate the deity with what many refer to as their guardian angel. Because the connection between spirit and individual began at a person’s birth, it was called a “genius,” from the Latin verb gignere, meaning ‘to give birth or bring forth’. We more commonly see this Latin root of beginning in words like “genesis” and “genetic”.

The “genius” guided individuals to live into their destiny, be that common or exalted. Of course, we mostly have references to those who were led to greatness.

In the 18th Century, the word "genius" took on its contemporary meaning. Genius, with its divine element, got conflated with ingenium, a related Latin word for innate talent. A natural, god-given talent became our word, genius.

With the publication of The Devil’s Kitchen and The Hidden River last year, book clubs occasionally invite me to come talk to them. Invariably, there are questions from readers about how to write a book. Never forget you’re a genius, I tell them. It’s a line that plays well with listeners. I then explain the classical roots. The etymology suggests that we all have a unique nature. I encourage them to tell their story, tapping into that perspective. They don’t need to set a book in a national park; that’s where my Dobby led me. Instead, they should go to that place where they are guided.

I hope the advice lands; it has personal resonance. A decade ago, I wrote a historical mystery. It was good enough to procure an agent, but it never found a home. While the book was being shopped, my agent recommended that I write another book. This is, I believe, the agent’s answer to all life’s problems—write another book. The one she proposed had several market-driven elements. I wrote it, but I don’t know that my heart was ever in it. Perhaps that was reflected in the prose. To paraphrase David Hume, it fell dead-born, without reaching such distinction as even to excite a murmur…”

In the interim between submission and ultimate surrender, I wrote the draft of a book that eventually became The Devil’s Kitchen. It was a story I wanted to tell, possibly felt destined to write. The writing was more fun and the results more satisfying. Me and my genius and I got the job done.

The satisfying feeling of writing the story you want to tell suggests another derivation from that old Latin root. ‘Genial’, the word meaning friendly or cheerful, arises from that innate or inborn sense of genius.

If  you’ve set a writing goal as a New Year’s resolution, I hope you’re still working toward it. Remember you’re a genius. Go toward that innate destiny, and may it make you cheerful.

Until next time.