I came to a great realization last week; which is good because I wasn’t very productive on the writing front. However, it occurred to me that I have a muse. Aside from my internal desires to write and the voices of my characters that demand attention, when I write, I always have someone in mind to whom I’m writing. In my case, it is always the same person.
She has been my biggest champion during the various stages of my writing tribulations; the dry years, the more productive years, the projects and ideas. Without even fully understanding it, when I craft my stories, when I put “pen to paper”, she is always in the back of my mind. When I read over my final product, I often think of what she would say, how she would react, where she might find fault. This new awareness of her role in my writing process is invaluable. My insight into her own character, her supportive manner is the gold standard by which I judge my own writing.
Frequently, without even meaning to, I draw from her life in little ways to populate the lives of my characters. Her experiences, worries and anxieties, joys and triumphs find their way into my stories, respectfully, but nevertheless, influencing my own thoughts, coloring my reflections and my writing. Realizing this role she plays helps me to understand my own personal motivations in writing.
My sister is the muse to whom I dedicate everything I write. I find myself constantly apologetic for liberally “borrowing” from her world. I count on her to review everything I produce and I trust her input and criticism implicitly. She is and has always been the sun around which my writing revolves. In her own life, when she has experienced tribulations that disconnected her from me and my writing, I’ve often found that my urge, my desire, to produce dries up, so to speak. I struggle with being creative when she is unavailable to me, when she cannot be a constant check on my impulses and my efforts.
I wonder if this is fair to her, this responsibility for my creative life. Have I placed too high a demand on her, deposited such a large burden for my own responsibility to my writing that the standards I’ve set for her role in this process are impossible? She has a life of her own, struggles and achievements of her own, to which she is responsible. Perhaps, by placing her in the central role of muse, I’ve thrust upon her a new responsibility for which she wants no part. That would be fair, wouldn’t it, to query her as to whether she even wants to take on this role?
Selfishly, I cannot do that. What if she says no? To whom would I write? Who would be my muse? I lack the words to express exactly the role in which she is integral to my writing process. I simply don’t know how to explain that she is always in my mind, my characters respond to her tender ministrations, my words flow because she is present and available. I count on her, perhaps too much, to generate my enthusiasm and to keep me on track with my writing. When she is unavailable, I struggle with the needs of my stories and I oftentimes fizzle out in my writing. Trusting her and her manner of guiding me is such a large part of what I do, I am lost without her.
Does every writer, every artist, every creative person, have a muse to whom they direct their efforts? Is it fair to ask this of anyone else, to place this great a burden on a person to be the sun in a writer’s world? Should I learn to separate myself from her, learn to craft only for myself and my characters? I don’t have any answers, although at least I am asking the questions. The first step in any process of reevaluation is to ask the right questions and I’m doing that. The final questions I find I must ask are of her: do you gain anything from being my muse? Does it help you in your own life at all? Are you flattered or afraid of being my sun?
It could be this is a symbiotic relationship. For every word I write, every character I create, every voice I profess to hear intermingled with her own fears and joys, I am crafting solutions and answers to the greatest questions either of us will ever ask. If I’m delusional enough to think this helps her as well, then perhaps she is equally delusional in taking on this role and understanding that I am not judging her lifestyle. Instead, I’m finding meaning in her world, her choices, her plight.
Like a star, like the sun, we all live short, impactful lives. Eventually, we burn out, silently implode. I seek to make my mark by leaving behind my words, my writing, as a testament to the life I’ve lived on this earth. I hope she realizes, that although being a muse is a burden at times, I seek to immortalize her both through the reflections of my character’s lives, but also through her critical judgment and necessary support. It may not be her dream of immortalization, but it is the best I can do.
The sun shines upon us and gives us life. Without putting too fine or sentimental a point on it, when it is comes to my writing, she is my sun and my words exist under her flaming banner. Her role as my muse is one in which I have no choice. She is the one for whom I write, the one I trust to help me craft my words, she is the editor, the judge, the critic who guides me. She is the story and no better story can ever be written.
daisybelle1313 