Today’s guest is Mary Sharratt, whose latest book, The Dark Lady’s Mask: A Novel of Shakespeare’s Muse (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, April 2016), is drawn from the dramatic life of ground-breaking Renaissance poet, Aemilia Bassano Lanier. The award-winning author of six critically acclaimed novels, Sharratt is an American who has lived in Germany and England for more than two decades. She is on a mission write women back into history. She lives in Pendle Witch country in Lancashire, England.
While I was writing my most spiritual novel thus far, Illuminations: A Novel of Hildegard von Bingen (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt 2012), I started a daily meditation practice and kept with it ever since. With the publishing world becoming increasingly cutthroat, my practice feels more essential than ever, offering me the refuge of an inner sanctuary where I can drink from the wellsprings of inspiration.
Connect with Mary on her blog, on Facebook, and on Twitter.
Calling on the Muse: A Meditation for Writers
The world at large might view novelists as creative free spirits rocking la vie bohème, but we writers know that it’s much more complicated than that. We’re struggling to earn a living in one of the most competitive industries on the planet, writing books which might actually be redundant in their physical paper form in a decade or two. We tend to measure our success or failure on factors completely beyond our control, such as our publisher’s marketing budget and our reviews—if we actually get any reviews!
I know that I’ve often wrestled with the feeling that I’ll never be enough. Never be big enough. Never sell enough. Never earn an impressive enough advance to break out and matter. Sometimes it’s hard not to succumb to a flailing sense of helplessness—why are any of us doing all this? Worst of all is my fear of creative dryness—that my inspiration will turn to dust and I’ll never write—let alone publish—another book.
My meditation practice offers me a refuge from this churning maelstrom of fear and insecurity.
As writers we can spend so much time in our competitive, ego-based minds that we lose track of the deep wellspring of creativity within our own being, from which our novels and stories arise. When we take time to retreat to this inner sanctuary, we can literally revisit why we’re in this business in the first place—because we have this inner voice, this font of inspiration that is crying out to be noticed, to be birthed into being through our writing and shared with the world.
In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron wrote about the importance of filling our inner well with new ideas and experiences, but in my mind, our wells are already full and ever-replenishing. We just need to take the time to drop into this space, abide here in quiet reverence. To listen and wait until our inner guidance arises.
Some of my most potent ideas that I’ve woven into my published stories and novels emerged from meditation, reverie, and dreams.
Writers and artists throughout history have called upon the Muse as a goddess of creativity who whispers inspiration into the ears of her devotees. The ancient Greeks believed that Apollo was attended by nine Muses, who were themselves the daughter of Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory. The twentieth-century British poet and novelist, Robert Graves called his Muse the White Goddess and wrote an eponymous book filled with his ecstatic praise of her.
Hindus and Buddhists call this white goddess of inspiration and creative flow Saraswati. She rides a white swan down a gently rippling river while she strums her veena, a kind of Indian lute. (If you’re a Western person who would like to learn more about meditating on Saraswati, I highly recommend Sally Kempton’s book, Awakening Shakti.)
If the concept of a literal goddess doesn’t work for you, you can think of the Muse as an archetype, a fairy godmother or sibyl deep within yourself.
So how can we connect with the Muse?
Find a quiet place to sit alone for at least twenty minutes. You can sit on a regular upright chair—no need to go out and buy a special cushion. Close your eyes and imagine a grounding cord dropping from the base of your spine and reaching deep into the earth like a tree root. When you feel grounded and centered, visualize yourself sitting on the bank of a softly flowing stream. Inhabit this space fully. What time of day is it? Does the sun or the moon shine in the sky? What is the landscape like?
When you feel fully present in this space, call upon your Muse. Ask, in your own words, for your Muse to appear to you. Your Muse is your unique inner guide, rising from the depths of your psyche. Gently wait until you see this being with your inner eye or simply sense this presence. What form and gender does your Muse take? Maybe your Muse appears in angelic form or as a historical figure you admire—in Deena Metzger’s book, Writing for Your Life, she mentions calling upon the late Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda, as her Muse.
While listening to the rippling stream, commune with your Muse. Open your heart to her. What does your Muse have to tell you? Does he speak in words or in images? Does she have any tools she wants to give you? Is he singing to you or playing an instrument?
Ask her to share her wisdom and inspiration with you. As you gently open your heart to her, her sacred heart opens to you. I like to visualize silvery light flowing directly from my Muse’s heart into mine in a transfusion of deep inspiration.
Sit quietly and receive this stream of silvery light. With each inhalation, your Muse’s radiance fills you. With each exhalation, her light spreads through your entire being.
Rest in the serene and empowering presence of your Muse.
May the Muse shower blessings on us all.
How do you call on your Muse?
Thanks for this, Mary. I think it’s important to remember to slow down and go inward for replenishment. The writing life, let alone just plain life, is challenging on so many levels. It’s only too easy to get swept up into chaos. I know that’s happening to me when I start to feel frantic. I’ve been practicing yoga for 13 years but still am challenged by a daily meditation practice. I do spend a lot of time in the woods, though, and this is where I find my silence. I have a sneaking suspicion that my muse is a guy, a fawn-like dude with ivy twined through his horns. He’s a Kokopelli-Like character who speaks in the wind and the running water. Thank you so much for talking about this today!
Thank you so much for your comments, Susan! Yes, walking in nature is so restorative. I know that I can really deplete myself taking care of the business and publicity side of writing, so there’s nothing like taking a long walk to come back to the creative self. I love it that your Muse is a Pan-like faun!
I’ve always wanted to meditate on a regular basis but could never find a way to do it that appealed. Yours is a lovely idea, that of talking to your inner guide and asking for wisdom, especially about writing. I’ve been working on an idea for a second novel, and I’m hoping this type of meditation will help. Thanks for an enlightening post.
You’re very welcome! There are lots of wonderful books on beginners meditation out there, too. Just sit and breathe and tap into the source within yourself!
Lovely and fascinating post, Mary. I don’t often read WU on Sundays (I try to unplug for one day a week), but when I saw this, I had to open it. My muse appears in thoughts when I’m walking in circles. If I have no destination and keep on a circle outside around my house or even a small circle inside my house, the voice comes forward. Images, sometimes a single word will strike. I am ever grateful that doorway is open.
p.s. I loved Illuminations: A Novel of Hildegard von Bingen. Unforgettable!
Thank you so much, Paula! I’m so happy you enjoyed Illuminations! I love your practice of walking in circles, which is ancient! Have you ever walked a labyrinth?
A labyrinth? Never thought of that. Gosh, where would I find one?
A lot of meditation centers and churches have small outdoor labyrinths now. Not with huge hedges or anything, but more of a gravel trail where you spiral in and then out while focusing on a prayer or an intention. They had a lovely one at The Ghost Ranch retreat center in New Mexico where Georgia O’Keefe used to hang out!
I cannot imagine the suffering, Mary Sharratt, that has driven you to finding your muse. It was never such a battle for me. I always wrote because I could not NOT write. I have been picked up by Doubleday NY in my time (way back when) and it made no difference to finding a readership. I have been picked up by a wonderful small independent publisher who then collapsed under the very pressures you describe in this killer business. I have been offered contracts by four other small publishers, but refused because the terms were impossible and the closing dates not defined. I have been heartily ignored in my submissions to unnumbered agents. And finally I have gone to self-publishing.
But never have I suffered as you have, and never have I needed to turn to meditation. Probably because I’m too hard-headed.
What is my answer? Carry on regardless. I do what I can to promote my work. I write something every day. I give what I can to help several other writers whip their work into shape and to bravely keep their chins up and to find their readers. That’s the best part of it – paying it forward.
But I will never waste my energies worrying about fame and fortune.
Many years ago I saw the writing on that particular wall. After working for a short, *horrible* time with Doubleday, I went back to school to become a veterinarian. That profession has paid my way through life, and supported the writing habit.
Now retired, I don’t write nearly as much or as well as when I had to go to work. All those years, when I got to write only during my down time, writing was my escape from the daily stresses of the real world.
It’s all relative.
Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts and creative journey, Lyn! Best wishes for your writing!
Much to think about here. Thank you for the inspiration.
Thanks so much for reading, Judith!
Timely post for me. I just moved to Brattleboro, VT and now that I am finally settled, I wrote this morning that I have to return to my meditation practice. Not only does it keep me centered, my muse–a sarcastic blacklisted screenwriter who never quit writing–will kick my butt back into finishing my endless WIP.
Thanks so much for commenting, Rebecca! Good luck with your WIP!
I’ve recently started a daily meditation practice, but I’d never even considered trying to reach my writing muse this way. Thanks for the inspiration!
You’re very welcome! Good luck!
Anxious to try this meditation exercise. Your newest book looks fascinating–certainly will purchase this week.
Thank you so much, Colleen! Good luck with the meditation and thanks so much for your interest in The Dark Lady’s Mask!
Lovely post, Mary. I have always wanted to mediate, but have never been very good at it. I did follow Julia’s MORNING PAGES during a very difficult time in my life, and I found that writing about the pain I was feeling worked for me. Mediation did not. Now I walk at least four days a week and though my husband walks with me, for the first 30 minutes or so we pray or meditate on birdsong and flowers or my mind drifts to my writing, so that back home I am fired up and ready to write again. Thanks.
Beth, that’s beautiful. It sounds like you’ve found the perfect way of connecting to your inspiration!
Thank you for this inspiring post.
On long walks, I meet her in the beautiful scenery that invites me in.
Thanks so much for your comments, Leanne. It’s fascinating that so many people commented that walking is an essential part of their creative process. I actually “conceived” the idea for this essay when I was out walking along Regent’s Canal in London last summer!
Great post! Many thanks! Just what I needed this am…
Thank you, Linda!
Mary – I think I consider my writing time itself as meditation, because I am often sitting within nature, looking with intent at the details — until they blur, and I am seeing and writing beyond them. My muse doesn’t take the form of a person, but instead a space. That space can be silent or filled with the music of my surroundings — sometimes even the music lingering in my head from rehearsals or the image of a score (I’m also a singer). Thank you for inviting us to think & write on this — a fascinating part of an artist’s process. I am intrigued to read your new book! Happy Writing — Stacie
Thank you so much, Stacie, for your beautiful reflections on your creative process!
I say, usually very softly, the Night’s Watch pledge from Game of Thrones.
Then I read from my earlier work and I get going.
What is the pledge? I don’t watch much TV. Curious now!
Very helpful post, and I have enjoyed reading all the comments as well. I always seem to read the WU posts a few days late, but then that gives me so much more insight from the comments. :-)
I’m not sure if I have ever talked to my muse, but he or she has been active a few times for me, gifting me with an entire short story in one sitting. Other stories have taken much longer to write.
What I do to clear my head from all the demands of the business of writing is to go outside and walk around on my property. I visit with my horse and my goat and my sheep and throw the ball for my dog. Then I sit on my deck and just look, at the trees and the bits of blue sky that shine through, at the birds flitting from one tree to another, and the grass in the hay meadow across the street gently bowing to the wind. It all brings me great peace, and I am convinced it feeds my creative spirit.
Beautiful, Maryann. As a horsewoman, I resonate so much with this!
Very timely for me. I recently posted on my blog (www.realsouthernwomen.com) my struggles with social media “overload. Thanks for the inspiration.
You’re very welcome, Louise! May all the Muses bless you!