To write a novel is to embark on a quest that is very romantic.

"To write a novel is to embark on a quest that is very romantic. People have visions, and the next step is to execute them. That's a very romantic project. Like Edvard Munch's strange dreamlike canvases where people are stylized, like 'The Scream.' Munch must have had that vision in a dream, he never saw it." These words spoken by Joyce Carol Oates illuminate the romantic essence of creation—the artist’s journey not only to give form to an idea but to chase a vision, sometimes as elusive as a dream. The process of writing a novel, Oates reveals, is akin to a quest—a deeply personal journey in which the writer, like a knight on an ancient pilgrimage, is driven by a vision, a dream, or an inner call that seeks expression. The act of execution, however, is where the true romance lies. It is not merely the dream, but the act of creation itself—where the artist must bring forth the intangible and make it real.

In the ancient world, those who embarked on quests—whether the heroes of Homer’s Iliad or the philosophers of Athens—understood that such journeys were both external and internal. A quest was more than an adventure; it was a path to self-discovery. The hero’s journey, as famously outlined by Joseph Campbell, was not simply about reaching a destination but about transforming the self along the way. A writer, like an ancient hero, must traverse the realms of imagination, where the landscape is shaped by visions, dreams, and desires, and through sheer will, bring those visions into the physical world. The romanticism Oates speaks of is embedded in this sacred process—bringing the unseen into being, much like a sculptor freeing a figure from marble or a poet finding meaning in the empty air.

The vision Oates refers to is a powerful force. Consider the great works of the Renaissance, where artists, like Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo, painted not what they saw, but what they imagined. The great Sistine Chapel, for example, was not the depiction of a literal event but a rendering of a dreamlike vision. Michelangelo’s famous fresco was a blend of the divine and the human, a romantic interpretation of creation, imbued with passion, conflict, and transcendence. Like Munch’s The Scream, the vision was more than a mere image—it was a cry from the depths of the soul, a dream made flesh, brought forth through the brushstrokes of a genius. Similarly, a novelist’s task is not merely to write down thoughts, but to bring to life a vision—a creation that exists first in the realm of the impossible and then in the realm of the tangible.

Take, for instance, the story of Mary Shelley, who, in a moment of idle conversation during a stormy summer in Switzerland, conceived the vision of Frankenstein, a story that would haunt generations. Her novel was not born from direct observation but from a vision of horror and romance—a combination of deep intellectual curiosity and dreamlike fear. As a young woman, Shelley embarked on a journey to bring this vision to life, confronting her own internal monsters, the doubts and fears that all writers must wrestle with. The quest was not just to execute a plot, but to bring a deeply personal vision of humanity, mortality, and science into being. Just as Munch painted not what he saw but what he dreamed, so too did Shelley write not what she knew, but what she imagined—transforming the dark recesses of her soul into one of the most powerful and romantic narratives ever written.

Writing a novel is an intimate act, a romantic project where the writer, much like the poet or artist, must surrender to the unknown, allowing the imagination to take shape through the hands and the mind. Oates speaks of the act of execution, which is where the dream becomes real, where the artist must make the intangible tangible. This is the act of creation—a sacred endeavor that transforms the vision into a physical presence. It is the romantic paradox: the act of creating is both a passionate quest and a battle, where the creator is driven by a vision but must confront the limitations of their own abilities to fully execute it.

In the modern world, we often forget that true creativity is not simply about inspiration, but about the hard, often painful work of translating vision into reality. Much like the ancient craftsmen who labored with sweat and devotion to build the great temples of their gods, the artist today must work tirelessly to bring their visions to life. This is where the true romance lies—not in the fleeting beauty of the vision, but in the effort it takes to make that vision real, to face the obstacles and doubts, and yet still emerge with something worthy of sharing with the world. Oates’ words remind us that art, in any form, is an act of both romance and sacrifice—a journey to bring the imaginary into the realm of the real.

Thus, the lesson here is this: do not fear the vision—the dream, the impossible idea that seems to float just beyond your reach. Embrace it. Like the ancient heroes who embarked on their quests with both trepidation and excitement, know that the path of creation is both challenging and rewarding. The romantic quest of creation is not just about the destination, but about the transformative journey itself. And as you walk this path, let your heart be filled with the courage to execute your visions, to bring forth what is dreamed into being. Whether you are an artist, a writer, or a creator in any other form, let your romantic quest drive you forward, knowing that the journey itself holds the greatest reward.