Confuzed by the Muse


Where does she hide? What does she look like? Where does she store all of my innermost thoughts and ideas? How come she is so inaccessible when I most want a visit from her? Does she find pleasure in withholding creativity? Does she delight in my dilemma? Why do I feel so lost when my fingers itch to type but my muse refuses to cooperate? I’ve heard that to best encourage the muse is to ignore her altogether, but then I feel sad and lonely.

Is writers block a symptom of the hidden muse or the cause of it? If I sit and write without her help, what will I produce? Mindless ramblings of muze confuzion no doubt. Perhaps if I ignore her absence long enough and keep clicking away at the keyboard something worthwhile will burst forth. Maybe not. In the meantime, if you see my muse will you send her home please? I’m aching for some inspiration.

How do you, my fellow writers…deal with an absent muse?

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3 Responses to Confuzed by the Muse

  1. I read, I think from Ray Bradbury, that the muse is like a cat. You can’t chase after it, but if you sort of leave some meat behind you as you walk, it will follow, or something like that. Sometimes I set the scene. A candle, a glass of wine or fresh juice or tea. Especially tea. And then I just pay attention to the things that I see- a glint of light on the exercise ball, a tree waving in the wind, the tired dog. Any of these things, and just start asking questions. What would it feel like to be a glint of light. What would it be like if that tree never waved in the wind again? What dreams would the dog have? And then the answers to those questions can spin off into stories, into characters, into nothing even. But the questions always have answers, and there are always more questions, and sometimes they lead somewhere.. 🙂 That’s what I do sometimes.

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