Do you write only when it calls?
Whenever writers wax eloquently about having a muse, I picture them sitting at their desk gazing at a framed picture of an elegant Victorian-era person, often a god or goddess, a poet, painter, musician, or some other creative type, a love interest, or at the very least someone beautiful and kind, full of the rosy glow of life. Someone who provides a limitless well of inspiration to the writer, in other words.
How easy it must be to crank out novel after novel if all you need for the words to flow is to think about this wonderful person!
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I’m envious. I’ve never had such a muse. I don’t even like most people, in fact. I love my family and friends (this includes the four-legged furry types as well), but I love them for who they are, not because they inspire me to write.
If we broaden our definition of muses to include things, though, I have two big ones. Nature and music. They’ve remained consistent for me during the writing of almost all of my novels. They are what drives me to write—and keep plugging away at—those stories. Each book is associated with a specific form of nature, whether a tree, a volcano, a coral reef, or a glacier, as well as a specific piece of music. I don’t need to play the music while I write, but I’ve listened to it enough that it runs through my head anyway. It ranges from lullabies to hip-hop to Bach, Mozart, Dvorak, or Prokofiev. Nothing thrills me more than scenes in which my nature and music muses speak directly to my characters, causing them to feel and do things they might not otherwise.
But sometimes I want to write when the thought of nature is exhausting, or when I crave silence rather than my favorite melodies. Over the past week and a half, for instance, I’ve put in 30 hours of work on my trail system on the family place. Nothing makes me happier, but when I’ve finished for the day, I want to sit at my computer and not move or think about moving until tomorrow morning. I don’t even have the energy to listen to music.
Still, I write. I must. I don’t think I write as quickly or as well when I am museless, but I feel better about myself for trying. I forge ahead no matter what. Later, when I’m more inspired, I’ll look back at what I’ve written and make it better.
That explains why this essay is so short, actually.
Do you have a muse? If so, who or what is it? I’d love to know.
Most importantly, does your writing only happen in the presence of your muse? What if it’s taking a holiday? Do you push out some words anyway?
Happy Tales!
Flights of Fancy 