ETA: After reading through the rest of my Blogroll I came back here and noticed that I typoed my title. I meant, of course, “I know WHO you are…” Didn’t I?
A few day’s ago I found Joely Black’s blog, which I enjoy. This morning I clicked over there and read this post in which she talked some about her experience of her own inspiration and the way she writes. Yeah, she’s one of those writers who claims that the stories just unfold before her, play out in her head, and all she has to do is write them down.
I say that like I don’t believe in it. And that’s not true. I do believe in it. I hear a lot of writers talk like that, and they seem to have such a passion for what they’re doing. I know that there was a time when I felt that way about writing. When I wrote all the time, had to, and it wasn’t something I really felt was under my conscious direction. And then a mix of circumstances I’m not going to ramble on about (but here’s part of it) convinced me to stop. And while I don’t generally talk about inspiration and such like a live entity, I suppose that the best way to put it is that I essentially bound and gagged my Muse and locked her in a closet for several years.
She’s still working through the trauma, trying to make all her atrophied limbs work and such, I suppose. Yeah, see, when I talk about it like a person I feel really bad about it. Will she ever completely recover? Is she crippled for life? And can she ever forgive me enough to open up to me again? Do I deserve it?
And do I really want it? Do I really want to be my Muse’s bitch again? Because maybe the abuse wasn’t so one-sided. Just write it. It’s so simple. I’m right here giving you the story. All you have to do is open up a vein and bleed it out on the keyboard. Here, let me help. *stab*
So I don’t know. Maybe we needed the time apart, to grow up separately. We’re doing ok now. I plot away, working my outline, or I do my daily work at the keyboard, and sometimes she pops in and says Hey, give this a try. [Gasp! I start typing furiously.] “Hey Muse, this is great! Tell me mor–” But she’s gone again.
I think we’re working our way back to each other, though, and I’m sort of cautiously optimistic for the future of our relationship. (Sanity, however, looks at Muse with some worry and Googles for body armor.)