Periodically all writers discuss, or at the very least mention, their muse. There are varying interpretations as to what manifestation this muse may take and differing means by which it affects us. I am not sure what my muse is. It happens periodically that I am claimed by it and so follow instances whereupon I can not help but write; I must write and in that time the writing blooms into that which has unlimited potential.
As a noun the word muse means an moment of reflection whereas in its verb form it can refer to being lost in thought. These seem sufficient to describe my own muse, as when I am inspired to write both of these definitions stand true. However some people do find that their muse has a physical embodiment and is perhaps an individual they knew, or know, well. They are encouraged to write because they desire to make this person proud or because writing is their only means of expressing their overwhelming array of emotions surrounding this relationship. I wonder, if my muse was a person, who would it be and why?
I can’t imagine being so inspired by one other individual. Sure, there are people I admire in the world; authors I wish I could emmulate and writers whose words leave me speechless and moved. Yet, I cannot focus my energies entirely upon a singular point and announce ‘yes, that is it, that is why I write.’ Truth be told I don’t really know why I write, only that it seems natural for me to do so and that when I am not writing there appears a part of me missing: I cannot be happy without it. I don’t write to impress or in an attempt to be praised. I also don’t write with the pure intention to share the words I string together with others: while the dream may be to get published, this is in part due to my desire to acheive rather than to write – and to be published is the ultimate approval, is it not?
No, my desire to write comes from much deeper within. Yet it concerns me that I am unable to comprehend what it is exactly that drives me when it comes to writing. I was born this way – possibly like many others – and whatever happens I am naturally inclined toward the art of the written word. I always return to it during times of need and I’m learning, day by day, that I feel happier in myself when I am actively writing on a regular basis. Still, I have no clear answer as to why this may be.
I won’t question it too much, as I believe that perhaps the innateness of my desire constitutes a part of my muse that inspires me to write in the first place. But, it has got me pondering what other forms the muse might take and if perhaps these can be harnessed in the future…?