It appears that COVID19 quarantines have motivated the muse of some people around the world, from bloggers sharing new recipes using every-day pantry items, to youtubers trying new home haircuts (I mean, almost anything is better than quarantine hair!), singalongs, and so much more.
The Best Laid Plans…
In my own family, we started tackling long-ignored chores like purging junk, organizing the garage, and regrouting bathroom tile. While it does feel good to accomplish some of those things, or at least start some of those things, I find myself confused by my own muse. Why? Because she’s gone silent. Absolutely silent.
This was to be the year of promo for my debut novel, Surrender at Canyon Road, and for creation of my next romantic suspense, whose working title is For Hire. This new story is loosely plotted, because detailed plotting is not for me despite my stockpile of workshop charts and templates. Since I edit as I go, eight chapters are complete, including the last, and I know where the story’s headed.
Alas, the muse has refused to come along.
She looks out the window and sees empty streets. She listens with me to the news and hears of the destruction unleashed by this horrific COVID-19 virus…and words fail her.
A muse, by nature, is stirred by the sights, sounds and events that surround us. When all goes still, from where can she pull inspiration?
The Tinkerbell Effect
I think of Tinkerbell and how that spunky little pixie withered as the energy of those around her dwindled, as they lost faith and no longer believed.
And now, as I write that, I wonder whether the muse has withered not because of the sadness and silence beyond, but because of the sadness and silence within. Maybe, just maybe, the wound is self-inflicted.
Yes. There is pain in the world. Unbearable pain with no clear end in sight. But without hope, without looking beyond to what might be, what can be, what WILL be eventually…the muse has no purpose. She withers like Tinkerbell upon her leaf.
A deep breath. A look toward the future. Hope and the belief that we will get through this and come out battle weary but WHOLE, might breathe enough life into the muse to move forward.
Be safe, everyone. Be well. Hug your loved ones—virtually for safety’s sake—and make plans for the future so when it comes, and it will, you and your personal muse will be ready to play.