I believe it was Jack London that wrote we can’t sit around waiting for inspiration, we need to give chase, and hit it with a club. His exact words elude me at the moment, but the general idea that inspiration is not just a stroke of genius, a lightning in a bottle, but the combination of lots of stamina and hard work, isn’t new. One must strive to be creative, and let one’s thoughts bleed out in whatever form they choose to take. Seeing I can’t properly live without this visceral need of expression, I embrace the challenge of creation, gladly. Rarely are the days when it’s an easy accomplishment, even when one is “in the zone”, so to speak, and yet the very act of perusing through the chaos of ideas, and make something intelligible out of it, constitutes quite the reward in itself.
Nonetheless, it has to be said I love the concept of Muses a lot. It’s heartwarming to conceive such fantastical beings in charge of helping unleash this creative energy onto the world. They sing, they whisper, they subtly affect perceptions and, next thing you know, a paper is filled with words, a rock became a statue, a canvas is drowned in colors. In a way, Muses are mind-controllers when one thinks about it, and that’s certainly a reason why they pop up so often in my writings. I have a Muse of my own, and we occasionally dance in the outskirts of Oblivion… she probably made me write the way I did, just now. Muses can make dreams come true, and don’t we all want that?
So… how to reconcile the two ideas I presented just now in such a short writing with erotic overtones? Well, you’re going to have to read what I came up with to find out. Please enjoy.
The writer approached the Muse, carrying a club.
“I’ve come to claim Inspiration!” he shouted.
“Did you?” She yawned. “That’s great, but…”
“You’re dreaming, and you can’t really control your dreams, mortal one.”
She could though and, in her dreams, her feet were the paper, and his tongue, the pen.
Time to write.