Digging deeper into the muse
When push comes to shove the writers muse is much like a constant thrall of music in our heads. But in the form of voices that won’t silence until our fingers stroke the pen. A muse is an old way of saying passion. Its sudden, unpredictable, and what makes you happy. Ignoring your muse no matter what it is can be like letting a puppy outside without water.
The muse itself is not magical
Our muse activates on its own like music. It is the passion we hold inside ourselves singing to us about what we need to do. Artists tap into passion whenever their ideas turn into a creative clutter. Creative clutter is a nice way of saying that their brain is holding too many thoughts, and needs release. Clutter can be brutal.
Our own clutter in our brain can create a muse or it can blockade it like police cars during a riot. Its not magical like a floating feather, or disappearing cards.
Muses effect everyone
We don’t think of a muse when we think of a banker, or a lawyer. The truth is that even they have a muse for their job. The passion we hold for anything can become a muse as it sings to us to do what we are teaching ourselves to do. A nurse becomes passionate about helping people, and a librarian is the same with books.
A muse is dark product. You can’t buy it, or wait for that ah-ha moment with it. You can’t call it like a pet or expect it every-time you decide to do what your passionate about. It functions in a particular way. A way that most people have started blocking out by paying attention to time wasting, money, and cell phones.
When the muse will call
I find that my muse only calls me when I least expect it. I could wait all day for it but it will sit in the back of my head laughing at me. You can run with it or wait for it. I tend to run with it. When it calls me I grab a piece of paper, and off to the writing books with me. I have a passion for stories; reading, and telling them.
When the humming bird of words twitters to me I can’t just turn my back. Magic is mystical without reason but I a humming bird sings for a reason. Joy, sadness, anger, and pain. All of which form stories within my tiny brain that scream to come out. They cry to me in my sleep.
The magic is not the muse but what comes after the muse hits
Our muse will hit us, and when it does we begin a phase called a focus. Everything around us becomes static and our ideas are only on this moment. Its the same focus as an athlete or an actress. The best comes from our muse and on average we can’t pin point when it will hit. But we know it likes to roll us over like a truck till we pay attention to it.
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