How does one convince the muse to visit? Can we bribe them with chocolate, whisper sweet nothings in their ear, or offer various personal favours?
The Muse visits during the act of creation, not before. Don’t wait for her. Start alone.
– Roger Ebert
So then, how does one begin the act of creation I hear you ask? Where do those fantastical ideas come from?
1. an inspiring or animating action or influence: I cannot write poetry without inspiration.
2. something inspired, as an idea.
3. a result of inspired activity.
4. a thing or person that inspires.
Inspiration is a funny thing.
It can come from anywhere, anytime and from anything. We’re all different, which is what makes inspiration such an amazing thing in itself.
I mentioned in a previous post
that I used a photo for inspiration, I do that quite a lot, visual cues are huge inspiration to me. I have also found that other environmental factors can play a part in inspiration. The colour of a room, the temperature, the weather, just to name a few. But without a doubt, the second largest form of inspiration for me would have to be music.
Because music plays such an integral part of our lives every day, I decided to use a song I’d located in an ‘inspirational music’ playlist on Spotify
to ‘inspire’ my writing. I didn’t know anything about it, where it was from, who sang it, I didn’t even know what language it was being sung in. I put it on repeat, I immersed myself in the music and I wrote a short ‘glimpse’ of a scene.
The song in question was: Gortoz A Ran by Denez Prigent, translated it means “I’m waiting”
The scene below is the result:
A large crystalised tear formed in the corner of his eye, the feeling of loss smothering him as he watched her naked form writhe on the grassy hill. The last throws of life bringing her broken and battered body writhing back to life for a last time. Realisation that he’d never be near her again shocked him to the core. His heart beating the fastest he’d ever felt, he opened his wings and took flight, a bitter roar of emotion spewing from his open maw, engulfed him in sorrow. The roar was heard by those far away from the blood soaked fields and the side of the grassy hill where she lay, still and not breathing, her grey eyes reflecting the outline of the black dragon wailing and flying, clawing in vain at the crimson sky.
After this exercise I had a look online for information about the song. The video clip is below. It’s a little freaky how many similar emotions I drew from the music when I didn’t even know what was being said. Please note, that some of the images in the video clip may be disturbing to some viewers.
What do you use to inspire you? How do you tame the muse?