The Muse
Where is the well from which your inspiration springs? What is your muse? Who is your muse?
Anyone interested in creating something with little more than desire and raw material floating disconnected in the mind knows well the importance of these questions. They must be answered and dealt with before a single word is written, a lone note played, the first colorful stroke of paint applied to canvas or the first chip hammered from formless marble.
I’ve asked these questions of many and have received answers that always seem to point at a single person, endeavor or situation. As examples: spouses, friends, long walks, sunsets, sunrises, fall days, spring days, holidays, stargazing, and on and on, adinfinitum. And, I always felt left out because I knew of no single person or experience that provided me with inspiration... until a few minutes ago.
It’s cold outside, so the fire in the fireplace is crackling and cozy. Cup of coffee in hand, I sat gazing into lazy flames with no particular thoughts other than appreciation for warmth on such a frigid morning. It was yesterday that I struggled with a story arc for a novel I’m working on and, after a dizzying session of mental badminton, I gave up and made stew. Not only did the conundrum return this morning, it began playing out in meticulous detail in the flames of the fire. Within the span of mere minutes, I not only had a plan for the direction of my story, I also had the answer to that elusive question: Who/what is my muse?
If you’re thinking the fireplace then you already know part of the answer, but I now know the answer is infinitely larger. My muse is not a single person or thing but, rather, it is everything and anything; it everyone and anyone. It is whatever I’m looking at or experiencing, whomever I’m talking with and all those examples above and more—a receptive mind—eyes open and observant—ears recording the nuances of daily life.
Anyone believing that the ability to create lay without then the smolder within will suffocate.
Daniel (Danny) Lance Wright
Author of
"Paradise Flawed"/Dream Books LLC/2009
"Six Years' Worth"/Father's Press/2007
"The Last Radiant Heart"/Virtual Tales/Spring 2010
"Anne Bonny, Where Are You?"/Rogue Phoenix Press/May 2010
Anyone interested in creating something with little more than desire and raw material floating disconnected in the mind knows well the importance of these questions. They must be answered and dealt with before a single word is written, a lone note played, the first colorful stroke of paint applied to canvas or the first chip hammered from formless marble.
I’ve asked these questions of many and have received answers that always seem to point at a single person, endeavor or situation. As examples: spouses, friends, long walks, sunsets, sunrises, fall days, spring days, holidays, stargazing, and on and on, adinfinitum. And, I always felt left out because I knew of no single person or experience that provided me with inspiration... until a few minutes ago.
It’s cold outside, so the fire in the fireplace is crackling and cozy. Cup of coffee in hand, I sat gazing into lazy flames with no particular thoughts other than appreciation for warmth on such a frigid morning. It was yesterday that I struggled with a story arc for a novel I’m working on and, after a dizzying session of mental badminton, I gave up and made stew. Not only did the conundrum return this morning, it began playing out in meticulous detail in the flames of the fire. Within the span of mere minutes, I not only had a plan for the direction of my story, I also had the answer to that elusive question: Who/what is my muse?
If you’re thinking the fireplace then you already know part of the answer, but I now know the answer is infinitely larger. My muse is not a single person or thing but, rather, it is everything and anything; it everyone and anyone. It is whatever I’m looking at or experiencing, whomever I’m talking with and all those examples above and more—a receptive mind—eyes open and observant—ears recording the nuances of daily life.
Anyone believing that the ability to create lay without then the smolder within will suffocate.
Daniel (Danny) Lance Wright
Author of
"Paradise Flawed"/Dream Books LLC/2009
"Six Years' Worth"/Father's Press/2007
"The Last Radiant Heart"/Virtual Tales/Spring 2010
"Anne Bonny, Where Are You?"/Rogue Phoenix Press/May 2010
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Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by melydia on -
When I'm feeling poetic, snow is my muse...but when I'm feeling honest, other commitments are my muse. Seriously. The creativity flows when I'm in a meeting or at a talk or supposed to be doing something else. I can be on fire with ideas for stories the entire day at work, and then as soon as I walk in the door of my house I can't string two sentences together.
Luckily, I keep a beat up old notebook with me at all times to catch some of these thoughts. The problem is that pieces (stories, blog posts, essays) tend to arrive fully-formed, and if I don't sit down and write it all at once, I'll lose it. Which I don't really have time for when I'm supposed to be editing a coworker's white paper or designing an algorithm.
--melydia
whose only publications are in smalltime literary magazines and bigtime scientific journals. -
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Permalink Reply by Daniel Lance Wright on -
The muse is elusive. Open eyes may catch and an open mind may notice it, but an open heart will always pull it in.
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