Muse [myooz] noun
1. Classical Mythology.
b. any goddess presiding over a particular art.
2. (sometimes lowercase ) the goddess or the power regarded as inspiring a poet, artist, thinker, or the like.
3. (lowercase ) the genius or powers characteristic of a poet.
This may sound bad, but I’ve lost my muse. It happened once before, and the production of 30-40 new pieces, poetry, prose, and short stories, have been the catalyst of that muse.
While writing, I pondered whether…honestly when would this happen. Though, the loss of a muse to inspire my writing, personally is saddening, I like writing, the change is not bad, but just a change in…a way of thinking. I wish I could better explain, but I learned of this shift unexpectedly, as I decided to purposely write a commemorative piece. Something that drew from real feelings, a thought to initiate a smile, etc. etc. etc. but as I sat, the weird feeling that I feared some many years ago arose.
Then it was a, “what happens if the events that inspired this work change, and those events no longer make sense?” that moment never happened, and I was able to virtually finish, and make a shift from muse to actually character. However, to restate, this was a new feeling, change, shift.
Does that mean, I’ve achieved what I was looking for?
It means that whatever longing, need, want, unknown, had transformed in more of an understanding that there is a fork in the road. The road of us, to the right, the road of nothing, to the left, and possibly a different path, down the middle…an amazing conundrum. The “looking” is done, the “what if,” is kind of closed, and now it’s either, “how do we,” or “move on.” Almost as if, the fight and want, spurs creativity, and the “have,” or knowledge either way, curtails that activity.
I don’t write about things that are happening, things that are part of a process, because in my thinking, my creativity may be needed elsewhere…which, to my credit, it was for the first time in QUITE A LONG TIME.
So for lack of a better description, for lack of giving more detail, with melancholy, but not sadness, or regret, I have lost my muse. Does that mean, I will not have a muse again? Hopefully that next muse, centers around a daughter (children).
I sincerely felt, as I sat there, on several occasions within the same week, and struggled to put pen to paper, thought to iPad, or whatever device, that we had changed, and though I don’t fully know the extent of that change, I know that the musing in print was not there.
Not wanting to give disclaimers…but losing a muse, does not mean, losing love, affection, or a feeling…it just means, that part of the equation has/had changed, therefore that energy is placed somewhere else…potentially writing “those” words.
Thanks for listening…now I’ll write about myself.
The manuscript Blue Lines is the fictional coming of age narrative of a young California woman Key Yemaya Walker, and her 2 year growing journey through school, love, and life period piece, written by Kenneth Suffern, Jr., taking place at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill between the years of 1997 – 1998. Loosely based on true events, and experiences during that time, told through the eyes and voice of the main female protagonist, a freshman first attending the school.