I think my muse wants to kill me. It can’t be contained or put on a schedule. It’s often unpredictable. I know writers who get their best ideas in the shower. Not me. My muse usually shows up when I’m driving in rush hour traffic on Chicago’s Kennedy and Edens expressways. With cars squeezing into my lane and horns honking, I will inevitably think of a new story arc or scene. I know from experience that if I don’t capture the thought in the moment, it disappears. I confess that I’ve quickly typed a note on my phone while driving. Not safe at all, I know. Someone suggested the voice memo feature on my iPhone and now I record my creative ramblings.
On nights when I’m sitting safely in front of my blank computer screen prepared to write, I wait for the muse. Minutes pass. Nothing. At the one-hour mark, I panic when the words that had flowed so effortlessly the day before don’t even trickle. Fearful that my creativity has dried up, my eyes dart around the room looking for something to guide me. Then I think maybe it’s like love and so many other things people say only come to you when you’re not looking for it.
I’m still not sure if you find your muse or if it finds you. All I know is that this muse can be elusive and slippery as hell. Our fanciful, idealist writer side assumes the muse will appear when we’re holed up in some remote cabin with a bubbling brook nearby to lull us into a higher level of consciousness. The glossy ads for writing residencies and retreats reinforce those fantasies. They trick us into thinking the most idyllic locations will inspire us creatively. Maybe they do. But what about those of us who need to fire up the muse on-the-go and on the cheap?
Something as simple as gazing at a ceramic vase or watching the setting sun can inspire the magic of the mind. The problem is I’m not still long enough to let that happen. The calm and quiet of reflection feel like a luxury of privilege to me at times. In today’s America, I stay in a constant state of rage. For those who engage in a spiritual practice, you know that you often have to be still to hear the voice of God or whatever higher being you summon. Lore tells me that muses work the same way. Or do they? When the world is ablaze, can we find our creative center? Or is that too woo-woo to be real?
I remember writing my college application essays back in the day trying to summon that muse. The one image that kept coming to mind was the #3 Cottage Grove city bus and the stench there of sweat mingling with urine. Not too romantic, but it triggered an important story of place and promise and where I fit in the world. Once I had that setting, one word and one sentence led to the next. It took some time to unleash my creativity because college admissions is high stakes and the pressure was on to craft a narrative that would tell and sell my story.
Art intersects commerce for many writers and that can be stressful, too. When our art becomes a commodity bought and sold in the marketplace, the idea of a muse may feel frivolous. I wrote to eat during my 11-year career as a journalist. That was my job. While the creative side of reporting was the source of my passion, I had to wrangle the story and tell it on a daily deadline whether the muse struck or lay dormant.
Putting creativity in the context of a business model at that point in my career prepared me for my foray into fiction writing. During a writing workshop I attended years ago, crime fiction author Michael Koryta gave the most salient writing advice I’d ever heard. “Keep your butt in the chair,” he said. Since then, I’ve heard many others repeat the same mantra. That’s when I realized the stalwart sidekick of the muse was discipline. Not nearly as enchanting or delightful to look at as we chase it, yet necessary in a utilitarian way. At that same conference, Laura Lippman told me she wrote her first ten novels while working full-time as a reporter for The Baltimore Sun. She got up early and wrote before work. “Pay yourself first,” she said, similar to the way a financial planner would advise us to put money aside in a 401k. All of this screams of practicality and doesn’t woo us the way muses do.
What I know for sure about myself is that I’m a dreamer and it’s easy for me to lose focus waiting for that creative spark. I need a writing discipline and I’m grateful to have an accountability partner who keeps me honest. Still, I never want to lose the creativity that inspires my love for writing. Some would say the muse is everywhere around us if we open our eyes, ears, and hearts to it.
I’ve never had much success bludgeoning the muse until she spills her wisdom. Coaxing works better for me. Before most writing sessions, I read a poem or a short passage from a novel I love. My favorite go-to book for inspiration is Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye. That’s my way of getting in touch with the part of myself that honors language and has an honest reckoning with truth-telling on the page.
As someone who’s had a complicated relationship with my muse, I know for certain that it finds us where we are and takes us places we’ve never been. That’s not always convenient. But if we could predict its arrival and import on our stories in advance, we would inevitably lose some of the joy in the pursuit.
Do you believe in muses? Do you find your muse or does it find you? How do you unlock its mysteries? Has that changed over the course of your writing career?
About Nancy Johnson
Nancy E. Johnson is a writer with an Emmy-nominated, award-winning television journalism background. Her stories often explore life’s complexities at the intersection of race and class. She was named runner-up for the 2018 James Jones First Novel Fellowship Award. Her work has appeared in O, The Oprah Magazine and has received support from the Tin House Summer Novel Workshop and Kimbilio Fiction. Also, Nancy is an advisory board member for Author Accelerator’s diversity scholarship program. When Nancy’s not writing, you can often find her exploring bookstores, festivals, and restaurants in her hometown of Chicago. Nancy is represented by Danielle Bukowski at Sterling Lord Literistic.
Nancy, I don’t drive very much anymore–but walking has a similar effect. There’s something about repetitive movement that allows the mind to wander. I am also a creature of routine and I show up to write and so does my mews :)
I do think those writer’s retreats offer something to people who are harried–a place to relax. Although I work well under pressure, I prefer not to be rushed and already have a quiet and slow pace of life with our younger child readying to go off to college. In essence, my home is a sanctuary, perfect for this writer (I realize not everybody wants peace and quiet–some people thrive on activity).
I think journalism is an excellent training ground for becoming a fiction writer–all that discipline, writing daily. May your muse always be with you.
Hi, Vijaya! I agree that showing up to write is key. Like you, I learned to write well under pressure. That was definitely a key advantage of my journalism days. I’ve attended writing retreats over the years, but I’m often too hyped and energized by being around other writers to actually be still enough to write.
May the muse be with you, too!
Nancy
Hey Nancy – I can’t get enough of this sort of stuff. I’m not sure how I draw my muse’s attention or grace. The only thing I’m sure of is that She only shows up when I’m working. She will not tolerate being summoned.
Having said that, sometimes She’s there before I’ve typed new-word-one, creating utter immersion even as I reread the prior day’s stuff. She shows up in the middle of the night, too (which I don’t dare complain about, even when She’s caused me a fitful night). But other times… I can peck away at it through a whole session, and nuthin’. No immersion, no perfect bit of dialog, no puzzle-solving epiphanies. Just slogging through a word-bog till I feel I’ve earned a pint, for the effort if not for the results.
But during the writing of this trilogy, I’ve noticed another phenomenon. I’ve encountered spirit totems. Two of them, in fact. Both birds. The first was a symbol I stumbled upon for use in book one. It was a female yellow-tail hawk that I spotted on one of my walks. She seemed to be telling me that the symbol I chose (a raptor spirit totem for my protagonists) was the right one. As I struggled through a draft and then through revisions, she’d make an appearance whenever I felt lost or troubled. Several times in a spooky way. Once, right outside my office window. Another time, sitting in a tree, less than ten feet overhead. That time she even sat listening patiently as I blathered for several long minutes. On the day I finished revisions the final time, I was walking on the beach in glorious autumn sunshine, wondering if I’d done enough. And there she was, wheeling in circles, coasting on the lake wind, directly above, reminding me to celebrate. It was the first and only time I recall seeing any hawk on the beach.
Whether or not you believe in that sort of thing, there were dozens of weird coincidences. For me, she let me know I was on the right track, reassured me that I should trust myself, and reminded me to see the joy in the process.
I sort of expected her to hang around as I started book two. But for weeks, then months, I didn’t see her (indeed, I rarely saw any hawks at all, which is unusual around here). But I started seeing another fine fellow (or fellows). At first it didn’t occur to me what was happening, but I kept seeing pileated woodpeckers (the large, red-crested type). And close! They’d be sounding (tom-tom drumming) right overhead, or doing fast-fluttering swoops right in front of our path. Even the dog started noticing. I looked up “woodpecker sighting.” Turns out it’s auspicious (go figure, right?).
Anyway, I went from very rarely seeing pileated woodpeckers, to… well, almost daily, and then some, if you count hearing them. I’d be walking along, head full of story – or fret over the lack thereof – and the rat-a-tat would start. One day there was one sounding right above as I stood stewing, and I said aloud, “Oh, I get it. Just keep pecking, eh?” And – swear to God – the loud, long laughing call came in response. It was almost like a taunt; “Of course you’ve got to keep pecking, dummy. Besides, it’s fun! See?” *goes back to the thumping rat-a-tat*
So I’ve been pecking away since, now entering the climax scenes of book three. And I still see pileated woodpeckers almost every day. When I’m not focused, rat-a-tat in the distance. When I’m struggling, loud thumping nearby. When I feel like I’ve had even a minor epiphany, Woody Woodpecker laughter, echoing through the woods. Just heard one when I walked the dog this morning. Now, quite often, I say, “Yeah, I know. I’m going to get to work.”
I’m often rewarded with a taunting laugh in response. I take it as intended, with a smile and renewed resolve.
Thanks for being open and honest, Nancy. Wishing you ease of communion with your muse. (Btw, I never had much luck finding any sort of spiritual communion when we lived in Chicagoland. Feel free to head around the southern shore of the lake if you ever need a little talk with a spirit totem. Or even a taunting laugh. ;)
Vaughn – I am all about coincidences & signs… they are real – they happen all the time – we just need to pay attention! So glad you reminded me of this as far as my writing goes – I needed to hear it! Thank you!
Vaughn, you never fail to inspire me. I love that your muse is a “she.” It’s fascinating that she can’t be summoned. But it sounds like she shows up when you need her wisdom. She’s right on time.
I definitely believe in coincidences. I will search the lakeshore for my own spirit totem. Oh, how I envy you for having one.
Best,
Nancy
Nancy – I know just what you mean. Your muse finds you kind of the way a new love does – when you’re having a bad hair day, no makeup, rattiest clothes you own – here comes Mr (or Ms) Right & you know what? They love you anyway! Write on!
Julia, I guess it’s a good thing that our muses love us through all our messiness. Thanks for sharing!
Nancy
Nancy, your words are always so welcome. Discipline might be my muse, as in other things I’ve done in my life (changing careers in my forties and studying to be an RN when I had three children) discipline is my guide. When living in Iowa, I always wrote in the mornings. Now in California, I find myself hunkered down late in the afternoon. Reading also kick-starts me, as if my muse is buried within a sentence in a story, quietly waving at me–hey Beth, check this out. I take notes, scraps of paper are everywhere. And yes there are days when my muse has taken a powder–or let’s be honest, I’m just dried up. So I’ll take a walk and if there are crows floating above me and calling out, that’s another muse as crows feature in one of my novels. I think inspiration is all around us. But we need the inner strength to respond to it. YOU CERTAINLY DO.
Hi, Beth! I agree that discipline is so important, yet it can be tough to maintain. I think there’s this magical window between being open to the inspiration around us and trying to force a creative spark that may not be there in that moment. We also have to give ourselves permission to write a “bad” sentence or paragraph or page. It’s okay.
I hope your writing is going well. Keep me posted.
Best,
Nancy
My muse adores white space. So yes, the shower and the car, and also cooking a familiar meal that I don’t have to think about. She is always there, in those empty-mind spaces, where my body is doing something automatic that requires no thought. She is a jealous companion and does not like other people coming around. And if I’m too busy to just *be* for a while, she’s not going to hang around for that. But if I make a regular time for her, she’s bound to show up at some point.
Hi, Erin! I hadn’t thought about the necessity of an empty mind where the body is doing something automatic. Maybe that’s why my muse always catches up to me on my long driving commutes.
I love that you make regular time for “her.” She’s a priority. Since she’s the jealous sort, she may be related to Vaughn’s muse who refuses to be summoned. :)
Thanks for sharing.
Nancy
My muse loves action, especially the action of pen on paper and fingers on keys. That kind of action causes my muse to wake up, brew the coffee, and start transferring words into my head. My muse even likes the apparently less noble action of walking into another room when I’ve hit a dead end and need to reroute myself around it. That kind of walk is like smelling salts to my muse.
My muse hates thinking, especially thinking about writing.
Anna, I love that you’re so intimately acquainted with your muse. You understand how she operates and what activates her. It’s fascinating that your muse responds best to action while other muses prefer stillness and silence.
Thanks for sharing!
Best,
Nancy
My muse comes to me at the most inopportune times as well. Often, like last night during spin class, when it’s rude to stop pedaling and write it down. So I try to keep it in my head until the class ends and jot it down in the still dark room on a note pad always waiting in my gym bag.
Sometimes I wonder if she prefers not being summoned or maybe she is just extremely busy. But every time she slips in and jabbers away, I wish her the best and remain grateful she stopped by.
Karen, I love that you and others have given your muses a gender and all have been female. :) I’ve often heard the advice that you should keep a pad of paper by your bedside in case you’re struck by some awesome idea. Your muse showing up in spin class is great! I guess she prefers action like Erin’s muse (above). If I don’t jot down or record my brilliant ideas, they disappear very quickly.
Thanks!
Nancy
If I waited for my muse, I would never get any writing done. Being a copywriter for 20+ has taught me inspiration only comes when I’m already working.
One word leads to another and when she deems I’ve strung enough together, the muse will sometimes pop in with an amazing idea or give me a piece of info I need to make a breakthrough.
It’s like the snowball rolling down the hill for me. I’ve got to get it started but then it picks up momentum and gets bigger and bigger…
And then usually crushes me at the bottom and I have to start all over again. Lol.
Yes, I LOVE the snowball analogy, Sheri! There’s that idea of motion again. Maybe that old theory about muses only showing up in the stillness is a bunch of malarkey. Too funny about getting crushed at the bottom of the hill. I know what you mean. That’s when we start the process all over again.
Thanks so much.
Nancy
I think what we mean when we talk about Muse is actually a state of flow.
Also known as being in the zone, this mental state was named by Mihály Csíkszentmihályi in 1975. It is characterized by focused concentration, a merging of action and awareness, a sense of control, distortion of time, and a feeling of reward. It brings a positive feeling of the potential to succeed. Other needs become secondary.
Jazz musicians, improv actors, athletes, inventors and others know this state. There ways to bring oneself into it. You must first of all be engaged in an activity, in our case writing. Thus, to jumpstart the writing Muse, it’s simple: just start writing. Julia Cameron in The Artists Way recommends that.
Second, have confidence. Worrying about whether the Muse will show up dampens that confidence and makes it harder to flow. That explains why the muse show up when you’re driving down a freeway or gardening. Your brain is too occupied to worry, but minimally enough that there’s room for your inner storyteller to go to work.
It also helps if your skill matches the challenge. If you know what to do and how to do it, and have a sense of how to measure your success, it’s easier to flow. That explains why reading craft books or attending workshops is so helpful. When you feel, “I got this”, flow is easier.
Csíkszentmihályi hypothesized that flow is more easily achieved by people who are curious, persistent, not self-centered and who perform an activity for intrinsic reasons only. He called this an “autotelic personality”, and we see that all the time here on WU when community members state that they write for no other reason than the pure pleasure of it.
Being free from distractions is helpful too, but there are many examples to the contrary. I’ve read accounts of novelist housewives who had their best ideas while the kids were screaming.
Personally, I find that giving myself permission to write is pretty much all it takes. If I have twenty minutes in the frequent flyer lounge in the Denver airport, I just open my laptop and go. I’m on the ground but the words fly.
Is that just practice? Maybe, but I say it is in that moment declaring myself a writer and writing rather than waiting for some notional “Muse” to tell me that I can. That’s my take, anyway.
Benjamin, thanks for sharing your insight! A “state of flow” is a helpful way to think of the muse. A key ingredient I miss sometimes is confidence. Often, I worry that a productive, creative writing day was somehow a fluke that I’ll never replicate. When my brain is engaged in other things other than worry, the ideas flow.
I appreciate your perspective.
Thanks,
Nancy
Benjamin, I always think children manifest flow perfectly, in how completely absorbed they are in their play.
Love that you keyed in on Flow and know the background! I am currently following Steven Kotler and Jamie Wheal and have been doing research on flow for my current WIP – The Serpent Awakens. I don’t have a male/female muse – but I use Liquid Mind Radio to help move me into the zone with a little box breathing. I ask for the guidance from the universe and express gratitude. :)
So timely for me. I just submitted a short story about a writer who had lost the inspiration he calls “Ms. Muse;” what brought her back to him was entirely unexpected. My best chance of connecting with my own muse is a standup paddle (or walk) at the start of my work day, but she definitely doesn’t appear on a set schedule. Thanks for sharing this!
Carol, once again I’m hearing that motion such as walking activates the muse. You’re right that we can’t schedule her arrival to meet our demands.
I appreciate your comment!
Best,
Nancy
Music is my muse. Some days a chord or a few notes (played by myself or someone else) is all it takes. Some days I use “go to” tracks for specific characters, scenes, plots or poems. Some days require a longer listen or endless repeats of the same song to pull me over the threshold into the other world.