Using Tarot in the Writing Process: Leveraging Tarot Readings as a Creative Catalyst
I was stuck on a revision. Chapter one had way too much exposition. Most of it would have to be cut, but I was having trouble letting go. I kept rearranging things, trying to whittle them down, but nothing was working. I decided to close my computer, grab my tarot deck, and shuffle. Two cards emerged in quick succession: the Ten of Swords and the Magician. Considering the images—a robed conjurer and a prone figure with ten daggers in their back—I took some time to absorb the symbols, consult my tarot guide, and close my eyes. When I finally opened them again, I knew what to do.
(100 Creative Writing Prompts for Writers.)
Whether you call it inspiration, creative flow, or divine intervention, most writers can affirm that it takes a bit of magic to finish drafting a novel. On days when we’re stuck—when the language feels flat, when our characters feel hollow, or even when we just don’t feel like doing the work—writers are called upon to pull from our bag of magic tricks. I’ve found craft guides, prompts, and plotting resources all helpful at one time or another. But in writing my debut novel, The Lilies, I found that my tarot deck was actually my sharpest, most generative writing tool.
Many people rely on tarot as a tool to develop self-awareness, foster personal growth, and sometimes predict the future. As a writer, I’ve learned to use tarot to explore my characters, intuit plot, and to reflect on my creative process.
Initially, the ritual of pulling cards at random eased me onto the page. It kept me from procrastinating, as it helped me reflect on what baggage and creative roadblocks I was bringing to my desk each day. But eventually, I learned that tarot could offer me insights into the personalities of my characters, the dynamics of their relationships, and the arc of my plot.
Why Cards?
While the origins of tarot are still debated, it is widely accepted that its structure and images were derived from a 15th century Italian card game known as Tarocchi. Most decks are made up of 78 cards, grouped under four suits and a sequence of trump cards. While each deck is different, with images that vary from creator to creator, tarot cards are laden with symbolism, each referencing the wonders and wretchedness of the human condition.
Unlike conventional writing guides, I’ve found that tarot cards offer a dynamic landscape of symbols and archetypes that help me work through the nuances of character development, the intricacies of plot dynamics, and the richness of world-building. When I get stuck, I ground myself by shuffling the deck and pulling a card. Invariably, this practice sparks something useful. In this way, I’ve come to use tarot as a creative catalyst.
Divining Character, Plot, and World-Building
Tarot’s four suits each come with their own set of symbolism. Cups represent emotion. Wands symbolize energy. Swords embody intellect. Pentacles, also known as coins, represent the resources of the physical world. When pulling cards during a writing session, I’ve found that each of these suits help inform how I develop character, action, and setting.
For example, when I pull anything within the cups suit, I reflect on the feelings of my characters going into a scene. A combination of swords and cups in a reading suggests that I not only should be thinking about character emotion when I draft, but I should also focus on their internality. What thoughts or reasoning are they carrying with them as they face this situation? Are their ideas flawed in some way? Or is there a grain of truth buried in some of their misconceptions?
When I pull a card from the wands suit, I consider the action in the scene I’m writing. Are things moving at a pace that feels right for the moment? What are the characters doing as they speak to each other? What absolutely needs to happen by the end of this scene? What can wait for another time?
Pentacles, with its earthly symbolism, guides me to think about setting and context. What does this character’s bedroom look, feel, and smell like? What’s on the dresser? How much money is in their bank account? How much lint is in their pocket?
Whether or not these details make it into the final draft is beside the point. Each card is an opportunity to look at a manuscript from a different angle and take things deeper. When you combine several of them the result is as rich as buttercream on a five layer cake.
Check out Quinn Diacon-Furtado’s The Lilies here:
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The Hero’s Journey and The Fool’s Journey
In the world of western plot structures, Joseph Campbell’s hero’s journey is a well-worn path for many writers: A protagonist sets out on an adventure, faces a crisis or two, emerges victorious, and returns home a changed person. This linear plot is not unlike the sequence of 21 trump cards that make up tarot’s Major Arcana: a young fool sets off on a journey and soon encounters a range of spiritual forces, each posing distinct challenges and opportunities. As the fool saunters on, the figures they meet on their path escalate in power and influence—from The Emperor, to Death, to the Sun. Tarot practitioners—particularly those engaging with the Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot—commonly refer to this sequence as The Fool’s Journey.
The similarities between these journeys appears to be more than coincidence. Joseph Campbell was influenced by Jung’s notion of archetypes, while Jung was influenced by tarot’s imagery. Although this particular story-blueprint has been called ‘universal,’ the late writer and tarot scholar, Rachel Pollack, problematized this notion in her book Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom: “Many people view archetypes as rigid, fixed images shared by all people at all times. Rather, archetypes are tendencies for the mind to form certain kinds of images, such as that of a guide, and the specific form an image takes will depend very much on the person’s cultural background and experience.”
As a creator who actively tries to break from linear plot structures, I have still found the archetypes depicted in The Fool’s Journey helpful in thinking about stakes and plot development. This is because, when I pull cards randomly, there’s no telling where in the Fool’s Journey I’ll wind up. If I sit down to write a scene and I pull the Wheel of Fortune card, I may find that some unexpected change of fate is in order, even if it isn’t in my outline. If I’m setting out to write a slice of exposition and I pull the Tower card I know that I should explore something catastrophic from the character’s past.
Whether or not these things show up in the final draft, engaging with the Fool’s Journey in a randomized way encourages me to think outside of a traditional Hero’s Journey plot structure. For writers wanting to stay within this familiar blueprint, engaging with the Fool’s Journey can still be helpful, as the symbolism embedded within it encourages thought about the points of growth and challenges a character’s experiences along their journey.
Breaking Through Writer’s Block With Self-Reflection
Every once in a while, I pull a card that doesn’t quite make sense—one that barely relates to the work I’m doing that day. When a card falls into this category, I like to use it as a jumping off point to reflect on my own creative process. I accept the fact that the cards may not have anything to say about my plot or my characters that day. Instead, they’re saying something about me as a writer and where I stand in my process. If I pull the Ten of Wands, I know I might be overworking myself or my manuscript. If I run into the Four of Cups, I think about how I might be focusing on the wrong things, perhaps overlooking a possible solution to a narrative issue.
The day that I started drafting The Lilies, I sat down at my desk, shuffled my deck, and pulled out the Death card. This felt significant and daunting. In tarot, Death is a symbol of change—the ending of life as we know it and the beginning of something new. At the outset of a new project, running into Death was wildly intimidating. Nonetheless, meeting Death first helped me take heart throughout my writing process. It was a reminder that, through the process of writing the novel, I was changing as a creator and as a person. Now that I’m on the other side of it, I can affirm that Death was right. I have changed—I’ve become someone who believes in magic.
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