Writers are always chattering on about their muses like they’re distinct personalities. Another being aside from the writer him/herself. I know. I do it too. I think it’s a way of disassociating myself from the less socially acceptable thoughts and actions that make my writing both interesting and a bit, uhm, unsavory. I mean, I couldn’t have conceived of that steamy sex scene, or that ruthless violence…could I?
Nah. Wasn’t me. It was my MUSE. She made me write it! Uh huh. Yep. A writerly twist on, “the devil made me do it!”
Owning the thoughts and feelings written aside, there is something magical about sitting down at the keyboard with only a vague notion of what you intend to write and emerging an hour of so later with a chapter or so of vivid prose. It’s a totally invigorating experience: Wow! Where did that come from? My characters did WHAT?!
The subconscious mind holds an amazing wealth of trivia, turmoil, and ideas just waiting to leap onto the page. And this simmering cauldron of magic, inspiration, and creativity is what writers fondly refer to as their muse.
Some writers (myself included) go so far as to personify their creative subconscious with a name and a form. Mine is Deirdre, and she’s a wood nymph. I’ve ignored her for years at a time, but I’ve always known who she was and what she looked like because we met when I was a small child.
I was nine or ten years old…on a school field trip to Philbrook Museum of Art in Tulsa, Oklahoma. She wasn’t part of a collection, but a piece of statuary from the days when Philbrook had been a private and very posh residence. I loved her immediately and took every opportunity to visit her as I was growing up in Tulsa. In fact, she was so important to me that even though I’d moved from Tulsa to upstate NY in my teens, when my husband and I were first married I took him to Philbrook for the express purpose of meeting her.
Despite my devotion, I’d never had a decent picture of her…until the wonders of Google Search came into being.
Imagine my delight when I FOUND HER!
I contacted the photographer, Bob Smith, and asked for permission to introduce her to my world. He graciously gave it. So here she is, Deirdre, my muse:
Here’s a more detailed photo, also courtesy of Mr. Smith:
I’ve always thought of her as joy personified. If you ever have the chance, visit Philbrook and get to know her in person. As a piece of art, she’s worth it. But remember, as a MUSE, she’s taken…Deirdre is all mine!
