Where's the Muse When You Really Need Her?

It’s 3 AM and the muse wakes you up, flitting and tripping around your brain, whispering in your ear, hinting at the fabulous stories she’ll tell you when you wake up in the morning. You groan, turn over, jot down some notes and go back to sleep. The next morning, you have some coffee and boot up your computer. You look at the notes you made last night and your heart races with anticipation and possibility. You place your fingers on the keyboard, you wait for a pulse of energy to run through you, and then . . . nothing. Your hands are still.

More often than not, the muse retreats faster than you can get to the blank page. She tempts you, she disappears, and you have no idea why or where she went. Or when or if she’s coming back. It reminds me of my cat. When she gets scared or annoyed, when she wants to be alone, she scuttles under the bed, plants herself in the center where I can’t reach her and settles in. No amount of pleading and cajoling will make her come out until she’s good and ready. You just can't hold a cat in your lap when she doesn’t want to be there.

The muse is sneaky like a cat on the prowl. The more you chase her, the more she hides. It doesn't matter what she promised you the night before. She has no trouble keeping you waiting or not delivering. Like a snobby socialite, the muse arrives fashionably late and she doesn't say good-bye when she leaves. Your job is to start without her, to ignore her just like she ignores you. If you can pull that off, don't be surprised if she sidles up, rubs against your legs, and pounces into your lap, bestowing upon you breathtaking pathways to your soul’s expression.

The muse seems to show up in places and at times when it’s most inconvenient. When you’re in the shower. In the car. In the middle of a serious conversation. Her MO is to show up when you least expect it so you need to stay alert and aware so you don't miss her. When Pablo Picasso was boarding an airplane in Spain, he dreaded flying and he was in a really bad mood when he took his seat, grousing at everyone and pouting like a child. Once he was in the air, he gazed out the window and he was astonished to see the clouds and the earth below appearing in cubic formations. This was his inspiration for his “Cubism” period. Even Picasso was unable to predict when the muse would come but when she did, he recognized her. He didn’t know what he would become. He didn’t know that he was “Pablo Picasso.” He only knew that he was inspired and he needed to get to his easel and start painting.

Can you keep writing when no one shows any interest?

Vincent Van Gogh didn’t know he was “Van Gogh” because he never sold a painting.

Edgar Allen Poe never made enough money to support himself.

Emily Dickinson barely sold a poem when she was alive.

Oscar Wilde was totally bankrupt when he died.

The list goes on and on but please don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I’m not suggesting that you’ll be dead before you get recognized. I’m not suggesting that you have to be a starving artist. I’m suggesting that if you feel like you're up against the wall, isolated, confused, and uncertain how to keep on going, instead of feeling like you’re wasting your time, stop thinking about who will like what you’re doing and who won’t. If you wait to begin until the muse shows up, you’re a waiter, not a writer. Remember that writing is a practice. You do it every day. The muse is a gift. She comes and goes as she pleases. She doesn't care what anyone thinks about her, if they judge her or if she meets anyone’s expectations. Neither should you. Forget about New Year’s resolutions. Just get to work, stop chasing the muse, pledge your undying loyalty to her, and let her find you.  

The late Poet Laureate, Maya Angelou, said:

What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks “the cat sat on the mat, that is that, not a rat.” And it might be just the most boring and awful stuff. But I try. When I’m writing, I write. And then it’s as if the muse is convinced that I’m serious and says, “Okay. Okay. I’ll come.”