Thursday, June 13, 2013

"An idea, like a ghost, must be spoken to"


Ancient Romans often began their poems with the famous invocation of a lyric muse, most commonly Venus.  It was a grateful tipping of hats to whichever celestial entity inspired them, rendering them capable of producing such classic masterpieces. Greeks too believed creativity was not something you were born with or learned, but something graciously lent to you by one of the gods, who as your muse, inspired you with the means for artistic invention. In Rome, said being would have been called your “genius.” These beings always conjure images for me of a fairy-like Yoda floating slightly above you, zapping the right words into your head and out through your fingertips before you have time to realize they were never yours in the first place. A verse to fair Juno, a few finger snaps, and you’re en route to the Iliad.

Unfortunately for me, my thought process while writing is a lot sloppier. I think my muse is probably less of a goddess and more of a goutly drunkard suffering from seasickness and one too many bar fights. He waddles through my mental hallways, knocking things over and sloshing excess hooch all over my words. Or perhaps my muse is a she, a prickly trollop whose altogether scrappiness is too evident in wrinkles and improper language. She’s truculent and bossy and makes more demands than allowances, godloveher. Sometimes I want to throw the laptop right through her rouge-ridden face, but then I realize she’d probably leave and I’d be back to the drunkard for my creative musings. Homer had it so easy.

            I’ve always wondered, what is the correct creative process for the rest of us wannabe Prometheans without the musical Venuses and the fairy Yodas? Is there a correct process? I can only assume most people start with a general topic or a point they want to make. Why else would they say, “when inspiration strikes.” Like what, lightning? If only creativity were so quick, clear, and precise as all that. Creativity is not a whole human experience wrapped up and reasoned with in a single moment of clarity. It’s an idea that starts in the most infinite of places until it unwinds and widens into something fully formed and vaguely finished.  It takes a beating again and again, but somewhere between them the moments of tender, loving attention paid to it pay off and it will, at last, unveil itself. It’s the weeks when you’ve not a fingernail to your name and you probably lost as much sleep as you got. That’s the Venus. Those are the ugly fairy Yodas. Hold on to those moments; use them. Tread them into something that makes the rest of that season a little bit easier to bear, then turn around and give your own trollopy muse a high five for being such a kickass creative guru. You’ll be left with a lot more than baggy eyelids and bloodied cuticles and the conviction that sometimes you have to scratch everything out and start again on the same story.




© 2013 Rachel Elizabeth Diehm

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