The Muse Is Real
I am at the beach with my family this week. But I wanted to send a short missive as I sit in my room, working for a bit before heading down to sand and surf. This is the life of a writer on deadline. Even on a getaway, you don’t really get away. I don’t mind, though. I am easily sunburned and somewhat afraid of the ocean (it tastes awful and is filled with things that can kill me). So I welcome the time to sit in a cool room and play with my novel. I hope that your summer is filled with similar opportunities to escape your daily life, and also indulge in your chosen form of creativity.
I tend to be suspicious of inspiration. It is a fickle friend, a willo-the-wisp that will lure me into the woods—then abandon me. The shiny new idea that promises to be easier than the manuscript I’m slogging through will turn on me, same as the one I’m struggling with now. I imagine this is true for any creative endeavor, whether it be knitting patterns or carburetors. Which is why I have always looked at my work as a writer as…well…work. Same as my previous job at a software development company (an awful career fit, btw). Or my job as an administrative assistant (also, no bueno). Writing is work, no way around it.
But two things can be true at the same time.
Writing is work. And. Inspiration happens.
I don’t know where I first heard this phrase, but it has proven true time and time again: the Muse is real, but she has to find you working.
Meaning that when I sit down, open the document, and commit to my work in progress, I inevitably stumble upon some bit of inspiration. Plot points connect. That seemingly random detail my brain insisted on including way back in chapter three now becomes a pivotal reveal in chapter twenty.
The Muse is real, but she has to find you working.
Work and inspiration cannot exist without one another. At least not for me. Though I take great care with my research and plotting, I am also comfortable admitting that my best work happens at the precise intersection of discipline and inspiration. It’s like a cat brushing up against my leg. There I am, minding my own business, typing mediocre sentences, and I get this nudge, this bit of affection from my own story. Come this way, it says, follow me. I live for those moments. They make up for every other moment, when the work is just work.
So, regardless of where you are working today, the beach, your office, a waiting room, or an airplane, I wish you great focus. And a visit from the Muse.
I'm going I'm going I'm going....
May I suggest that "your work is work," because you're perfection oriented, and most likely you obsess over the sentences you write - it's what makes your writing so wonderful! Substack has opened my eyes to literary work that is often not well thought through, carelessly framed, sloppy, and overly verbose. And who knows, maybe my work qualifies as exactly that. But I LOVE playing with the words; the challenge of communicating a thought clearly and more succinctly; and following a storyline through to a successful conclusion! This isn't work - building homes was work. But then again I was always on deadline for clients, usually short of adequate materials and labor, and overwhelmed with budget concerns. Several times a year all the pushing and shoving went away for a while as my family paused to go to the beach. I wish you rest!