What happened to my muse? That flow of creative energy that enters the crown of my head, runs down my spine, infiltrates the blood flowing to my fingertips, compels me to write… is gone. The words don’t flow as they should any more. Instead I have to forcefully drag them out, trailing blood, from my heart. It’s excruciating. I think someone took aim and shot my muse down from over my head. I want to find the shooter and take vengeance. All I had were my words.
But my words aren’t gone. I just have to search harder to find them. Writing becomes an uphill trudge rather than the exhilarating freefall it once was. In a way, my writing mirrors my life. The important thing is that I am alive, and so are my words. As long as I infuse life into my words, then my muse isn’t dead. I’ll just write and keep that mysterious little thing alive until I can find it again.
(Image by Kelene Blake)
No comments:
Post a Comment