What comes to mind when you hear the word “occult”? Evil cults that worship the devil? Weird rituals where animals are sacrificed? Wizards with nefarious aims wielding power behind the scenes? If so, you probably got those impressions from Hollywood or from fear-based religious groups. Let’s pull back the dark curtain that shrouds the occult arts to discover how supernatural elements can contribute to a mystery novel’s plot.
 
What Does “Occult” Mean?
           
First of all, the word “occult” simply means hidden, as in hidden knowledge. For centuries, people who practiced the occult arts had to hide what they knew and practiced in order to avoid imprisonment, torture, and murder at the hands of misguided authorities. They formed secret societies sometimes known as Mystery Schools, passed down wisdom through symbols and oral tradition, and wrote in secret code.
 
Yet occult ideas and practices––witchcraft, divination, spellcasting, incantations, and magic potions––continue to fascinate us to this day. Perhaps the most famous scene in literature comes from Shakespeare’s MacBeth where three witches stir a mysterious brew while they prophesy “toil and trouble” for the Scottish king. The Bard’s plays MacBeth and Hamlet also feature ghosts, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream involves faery spells and shapeshifting. More recently, J.K. Rowling’s popular Harry Potter stories have captured the imaginations of millions of young people worldwide and introduced them to some of the tenets of magic work––and its possibilities.
 
Using the Occult in Plotting a Story
 
Occult practices involve working with forces beyond the mundane, tapping into reservoirs of hidden power, and sometimes interacting with supernatural beings. Therefore, they let writers and readers step outside the ordinary limitations of a storyline. Ghosts and spirits can also expand readers’ knowledge into realms beyond the physical. In Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones, for example, a murdered girl shares a perspective of the crime from her vantage point on the other side.
 
Oracles such as the tarot, astrology, or runes can give veiled glimpses into the future. Is someone destined to die when the Death card turns up in a tarot reading? In my mystery novels What the Walls Know, The Goddess of Shipwrecked Sailors, and Running in the Shadows a tarot card reader sees trouble lurking ahead for the protagonist Lizzie Crane, which adds to the stories’ suspense.
 
Authors can incorporate metaphysical ideas into their novels in various ways. For example:

• Is a character a seasoned witch or wizard, or a novice dabbling with forces she doesn’t understand, like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice?
• Does a character pursue a metaphysical path that leads him to a discovery or danger? How does he grow from this experience?
• If this is a historical novel, what local customs, religious beliefs, and laws affected occultists at that time? Are historical events, such as the Salem Witch Trials of the early 1690s, worthwhile additions to the book?
• Do nonphysical entities influence a character’s decisions, aid her in solving a problem, or guide her into a realm beyond the physical one?
• Does a character conjure a spell that works––or goes wrong––and takes the story in an intriguing direction?

 
Oh, and by the way, writing is a powerful form of magic. When casting a spell, you envision an outcome you want to create. Then you infuse it with color, action, emotion, intention, and passion. You experience it as if you’re living it right now. In your mind’s eye, you see the result as if it already exists––and you’re the Creator who makes it happen. Sounds like writing a novel, doesn’t it?
 
Author Bio:
skyealexander.com/Skye Alexander’s historical mystery novels What the Walls Know, The Goddess of Shipwrecked Sailors, and Running in the Shadows use tarot cards to provide clues. Skye is also a recognized authority in the field of metaphysics and the author of fifteen bestselling nonfiction books on the occult arts including The Modern Guide to Witchcraft, The Modern Witchcraft Book of Tarot, and Magickal Astrology.

​Dead-Handed is my third crime fiction novel in the Nut Cracker Investigations series. Before I began, I had a firm sense of the plot. I wrote an outline. Then characters appeared, startling things were said, and unplanned plot twists emerged. It felt like the steering wheel on a moving car had suddenly disengaged.
 
This happens for pantzers, but I tend to be a plotter, so why didn’t I panic?
 
Because I’ve researched the way our brain delivers its best creative effects. During this process, I found a lecture given to a group of psychologists in Paris in 1908. The lecturer was Jules Henri Poincaré, an engineer and mathematical savant. He proposed a way to work on complex problems by exploiting an impasse: Let go and let the unconscious have its say.
 
Poincaré was a mining inspector in northeastern France. While working on his dissertation on differential equations, he hit a brick wall, so he went on a trip. As he traveled, he relaxed. One morning, he went to the bus stop. The bus door opened and he lifted his foot to step inside. Out of nowhere, the elusive solution he was chasing before his trip arrived. “As I put my foot on the step, the idea came to me, without anything in my former thoughts seeming to have paved the way for it.” Upon his return, he verified the result.
 
Another such experience happened during a late-night coffee break. Poincaré had been striving for weeks to clarify a point in his research. Each day, he’d sat at his worktable, trying and trying, without result. Then one evening, he drank a cup of coffee. It kept him awake and “ideas rose in crowds; I felt them collide until pairs interlocked, so to speak, making a stable combination.” He believed that the stimulant had made him more present to unconscious material.
 
He also found it effective to take a walk. (I do this as well.) Once, as he strolled, the solution to a stubborn problem struck him. Upon returning, he got back to work. But one aspect of this problem remained stubbornly resistant. He worked on it, day after day, to no avail. Only when he pulled away for another outing did the solution pop.
 
Comparing unconscious ideas to atoms, Poincaré said, “During a period of apparent rest and unconscious work, certain of them come unhooked from the wall and put in motion...  Their mutual impacts may produce new combinations.” In other words, our unconscious brain absorbs the data we feed it from research and experience. Then, like a kid learning to bake, blends it into unique concoctions.
 
This sounds like support for pantsing, and it is, but wait. Plotting has its place.
 
In his lecture, Poincaré listed five key points about creative insight.
 
1)It begins with a period of conscious work, followed by unconscious work.
2)Then, you verify the unconscious work, i.e., put it on a “firm footing.”
3)Trust must be built in the “delicate intuition” of the unconscious, which “knows better how to divine than the conscious self, since it succeeds where that has failed.”
4)The conscious mind (plotting) decides on the worth of the unconscious product.
5)The unconscious product is only a “point of departure.” The rest can be worked out with the discipline of the more logical conscious mind. (Some might call this plotzing.)
 
Brain research today supports Poincaré’s ideas. The neural flash that explodes as sudden insight originates in the brain’s right hemisphere—the area attuned to metaphors, nuances, and emotions. Physiological measures show that just before an insight occurs, activity decreases in left-brain areas while high-frequency brainwaves increase in the right temporal lobe. About 1.5 seconds before insight, low frequency brainwaves increase. They vanish as the high-frequency waves spike. Researchers think this is a “gating effect” that acts to collect energy for the spurt.
 
In contrast, during solutions based solely on conscious calculation, there was no such flash or spurt.
 
What brings insight from the inaccessible mind to full mental awareness, as Poincaré describes, is the selective triggering of stimuli. That is, your research primes it. Then, once the brain has time to absorb and play with this diverse data, it delivers. You just need to give it some space.
 
I find Poincare’s steps to be effective: work on your book (write, research, plot, etc.) to the point of impasse. Then, relax and do no brainwork: take a walk, play a game, see a movie. Let another part of your brain go to work. Don’t guide it. Just be ready for things to emerge you hadn’t expected.