Straining for the melody

Rosalee commented on the previous post about a discussion on story and plot at Sherwood Smith's website. One commenter there, jediboadicea, said something I found very true:

"The writers with whom I tend to connect most strongly, either as a reader or as someone with whom to talk about the writing process itself, are those whose writing process includes an acknowledgment (or perhaps I should say defeated resignation? heh) of the fact that the story often decides for itself. Sometimes you have a hard time explaining why this or that event happened other than to say... well, it had to happen. The story demanded it.

"I often say that myself, and at that point it becomes a matter of - well, if it has to happen, how am I going to make it happen?" 

Because the creative process is so mysterious, inspiration so sudden and uncontrollable, it's easy to fool ourselves into believing it's completely out of our hands. Story happens. We're just the medium through which it flows. In one way, I want to say, "that's hooey. You're the writer. Write it." But at the same time, I know there's something else going on here. Story seems to exist outside ourselves. It's a combination of work and inspiration. For the spiritually minded, it might be a metaphor about the balance of personal effort plus divine grace.

What jediboadicea is saying here is dead on for me. Story is ethereal in a way--it's something there but only visible if I don't look at it straight on. It's a remembered dream. "This has to happen for the story," I realize. But then, the follow-up question must always be, "So, how do I make it happen?" Story reveals itself to you, then as a writer you sweat and work to make it tangible. What I mean to say is, we can't wait for the miracle. We listen for the story, then make it happen.