Who Are The Muses?
To me? To you?
Who are the muses? Where can I find them? How many are there? They stopped talking to me for a while and I’m not sure what I did wrong. They’re slowly coming back to me, but I have to work hard to keep them. I’m pushing and straining against the lack of ideas in my mind, the atrophied muscles of my writing brain.
The faces of the muses change all the time. I only have a few at the moment, I’m trying to regain the ones who left me. I’m not sure what it will take for them to come back to me. Maybe if I sing the praises of the few I have, the rest will want to hear me sing theirs?
An ode to what inspires me currently:
Strawberries. I don’t just love the taste of them or the way their artificial flavor is so wonderful, but their look as well. Strawberries are beautiful, the real ones and the ones that people draw or crochet. I’m obsessed with the aesthetic of strawberries. For whatever reason, I want to write about them, how important they are to me. A small, crocheted strawberry that I keep in my scrub jacket pocket is one of my muses.
The moon. What writer does not thank the moon for inspiration? She is beautiful when she is full, she is beautiful when we can only see a sliver, and she is beautiful when she hides from our human eyes. She rules over the tides and when she comes out at night, the sight of her induces a sense of calm and thoughtfulness. I check for her every night that I work because it feels like she’s looking out for me. Tonight, a small sliver of her is visible, and that piece of her is one of my muses.
My dog. My long-legged, one-eyed beagle makes me laugh and smile, but she also frustrates me every day. I run through all of the emotions with her. Her sweet, curious face, her vocal insistence on receiving all of my attention, makes each day better. Yesterday she chewed through a beautiful tote bag I had just gotten in the mail. That part was not so great. When she digs at the sheets so that I’ll lift them up for her to crawl underneath the covers, that is when she is one of my muses.
Other writers. Sometimes a small phrase or idea that I read from another writer’s work makes my writer’s brain excited. It makes my writer’s brain think, hey, I can think of a response to that, because that’s what writing is, right? It’s a written response to a stimulus, physical or mental. Writers respond to other writers’ ideas. I am thankful for all the works that I have read, because who can write without reading first? All of you authors out there, you are my muses.
Mental health advocates. So many of us wouldn’t be here without mental health professionals, myself included. I am thankful for my experiences on both sides, as a professional and as a patient. Mental illness, neurodivergence, psychology, and neuroscience, it’s all so endlessly fascinating that I could spend a lifetime learning about it all. That’s the plan, anyway. I want to understand myself and others, I want to help through understanding. It starts with advocates, and they are my muses.
There is a muse that isn’t working the same way she used to. When I was younger, she came to me through story ideas, through the images of story scenes that I would piece together. Now, she inspires me through actions. She is Romance. Instead of the romantic stories I used to write, she has me think of ways to show my love for my partner. I guess the real thing really is better than what one could put on the page. Thank you to my significant other, you are a muse every time I think of you.
These are my muses. These items, these things, are what inspire my writing and my life. The muses may identify themselves to you differently. That’s okay, I don’t think anyone should have the same exact muses as someone else.
This begs the question: who are your muses?
