Mischievous Muse

My Muse calls on me at the most inconvenient times. Yet its playful presence is scarce when I'm staring at a clean page or blank computer screen.

Sound asleep at 2 am, a story begins to write itself. I try to ignore the characters as they begin to march across my dreams. I toss and turn but the story persists.

Finally giving in to curiosity and guilt, I stumble to my computer, wait for it to wake grumpily as its peaceful "offness" is interrupted.

The story continues to write itself taking me to unheard of places fraught with characters, conflict, and redemption. Colors, smells, and voices swirl in my mind.

Now I'm wide awake, creative juices flowing, fingers flying over the keys. The story emerges with folk as real as my neighbors and just as complicated.

At 4 am, I give a perfect twist to the ending.

My Muse, at last satisfied, moves on--sprinkling inspiration into the unsuspecting dreams of another unwary writer.

A Writer's Real Job?

Writing stories is like opening a locked door and letting the characters come into the room. Live their lives. Tell their story.

Should we invite those left outside a chance to enter? Do all stories exist somewhere just waiting for release? Like the unborn waiting for their turn at light? Are stories sad and lonely or happy and joyous from the beginning? Or is there a chance to change the ending if we, the writers, give them time and space to do so?

An artist must feel the same way molding an emerging image from clay or painting on canvas  that becomes a face, a scene--dark or light.

Is our job as writers to bring life to those whose story will never be told unless we write them? Do words give legs to thoughts, dreams to bodies, or breathe to words not yet spoken? When we write about good, is it released into the world? Would less evil exist if we didn't give it life in words?

Writing brings to life a dimension unreleased in any other way. Should we write with awareness of the forces we release that offer life and meaning?

Turn Memorabilia into Story

We all keep treasures from our travels, places we've lived, or reminders of our childhood. Maybe you kept your first Valentine from someone special, the old revolver your great great, granddad passed down through the generations to you, or quilts and tatted doilies made by early women in your family.

My treasures are a shelf clock with a beautiful chime, the pie safe that stood in the farmhouse first used for venting pies and later stored canned goods, a beautifully, hand-painted bowl from Prussia, or my Dad's Bible well-worn from teaching the Men's Sunday Class. One of my favorite keepsakes are the doorknob and silver box from the old farmhouse. The door in the picture is a photograph by Nancy Hartney (www.NancyHartney.com).

Your treasures can form the basis for a short story or hold a well-loved space in a memoir, novel, or mystery. Turn into story the seashells from your trip to the beach, the Navaho rug hanging in your office, the tool box belonging to your Dad, or your childhood toy truck or doll.

Use your passion for these keepsakes to add richness and believability to your characters, settings, or story plots.

The Best Writing Space for You

Does your Muse find you anyplace with a pen/pad, laptop, or desktop computer? Or do you find inspiration in a special space--at the library, outside in the park, on a plane, or in your office? I'd love to know what works for you and why.

I write mostly in the solitude of my office--well, almost solitude. My loyal Shih Tzu, Mimi, often shares the space. She adds her own levity to the silence. In this creative space, words seem to flow, characters show up often with their own names, background, and special personality. However, if I've been intense for too long, Mimi gives me the I-need-to-go-out-look. Often just the break I need. 

I mostly write nonfiction. I can easily get lost in the overwhelming research maze. For organizing lots of stuff or editing my own work or that of a client, I find the white noise--people milling around and talking--in Barnes & Noble or Starbucks most conducive.

The habit and expectation of how and where we write--that special space--preps us to do our best work. Be intentional about your choice of writing space and see if your work doesn't go more smoothly. It's worth a try.

Why I Love Old Barns

An old barn half hidden in weeds struggles to hold board and soul together. Its brave story catches my imagination. Birds now nest where hay once filled the loft and tiny creatures scurry about below finding tiny morsels of grain left from long ago.

I get out of my car with camera in hand, climb over the broken fence, and pause to take in this amazing slice of history. I step from the warm outside sun through sagging doors into the cool quiet. A sanctuary that’s survived beyond the years of hope and purpose. The now slatted roof and leaning sides takes perseverance to a new level. She no longer holds within her arms warm, lowing animals, wake each morning to the early clang of milk pails, or the soothing words of a farmer as he greets each cow by name—but she is still beautiful and stands with pride.

Jonquils

Rows of jonquils growing on a country hillside bravely carry the dreams of people who once lived there. Their joyful yellow faces planted row on row still give pleasure nodding in the breeze.     

A legacy of laughter and tears soaked into this soil—all that’s left of generations who loved, laughed, wept, and one day had to leave the land—their hearts lingering in the brown earth beside the daffodils.

My sisters and I caught fireflies in the dusk on this very hill. We looked for the first star to appear, waved goodnight to the thin slice of moon just appearing over the moon trees. We listened to our Daddy’s stories of boyhood adventures out West. Felt our Mother’s reluctance to break the evening’s enchanted spell by going inside, turning on lights, making ready for bed.

Raising their faces each year to the sun’s warmth—the jonquils write my memoir.