Ode to Inspiration
I spoke to an online friend last week; this person is a
performer and a writer. I asked how he had been, he said he had been
fine. I asked him how his theater festival had gone in the past month, he said
it went very well. I then asked him if he had written anything recently. He
replied, “No, inspiration hasn’t come yet.” I totally understand that
sensation. You can’t write about something when you’re not inspired. In the
past, I have known writers who can sit down and write for 8 hours a day. I
don’t work that way. I am like my friend, I have to write when
inspiration comes. I told my friend, “Inspiration is like love. You can’t look
for it, it will find you.”
I then began to think about inspiration, and about writing.
It then occurred to me that, with some exceptions, every piece of music we have
ever heard was written. Every piece of dialogue we witness in a play was written.
Every nuance of movement on stage has been written. If these things weren’t
written, they would have been performed once and lost forever.
I thought about the story of the muse, the legend of the
nine Greek sisters who inspire artists of many varieties. I don’t know if I
have a muse that whispers in my ear, giving me thoughts which turn into poetry
or not. Inspiration itself may be the muse.
Inspiration is like a beautiful butterfly. You can chase it
with every ounce of strength you have; chances are it will fly away from you.
But if you sit quietly, the butterfly will, more often than not, find you.
If I am silent on this blog, it is not on purpose, and not
because I want to be. It’s because I am waiting for the muse to whisper in my
ear, waiting for the butterfly to find me.
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