Archive for the ‘Muse’ Category

Cream of Wheat and onions


10 May

Posted in Creating, Muse, Practice, Process, Work, inspiration | 2 Comments »

Growing up, there were two things that some people believed to be food that I wanted nothing to do with: Cream of Wheat and onions. Cream of Wheat always gave me the shakes, and I did everything possible to avoid having to eat it, even if that meant skipping breakfast or (sorry mom!) throwing it in the trash when I thought no one was looking. Onions were just crunchy white slimy things that didn’t belong in someone’s mouth.

Even though I still feel feelings of unpleasantness towards these “edibles,” I’ve come to appreciate their value in my life and in the development of my creative capacity. This is because the creative person’s most important friend is often perceived to be his or her worst enemy, namely, obstacles. Problems and challenges along the way often become the germ of a far greater creative truth; a truth we would never had discovered if we hadn’t been “stopped” by a problem or struggle in the process. I have come to learn to welcome these times. Without exception they have been friends, even if at first I didn’t view them as such.

A great friend and adviser recently taught me that often the good book must be written in order to find the great book that lies beyond it. I believe this to be true, and I’m now discovering it in my own writing (not that what I’m doing is “great.” It does at least feel “better.”) Trusting in the truth that good work can be the beginning of something great, I am grateful for Cream of Wheat and onions, and hope I have learned or am learning the lessons they’ve provided.

Anatomy of a poem


30 Oct

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Posted in Creating, Muse, Process, inspiration | 2 Comments »

treefort2

As a break from the grind of outlining and writing my current screenplay project, I’ve been working on some poetry. In my writing workshop the other night I had my group read a piece I’ve been working on, and I thought it might be minimally interesting to someone (or not) to see how a poem comes together. This of course is speaking only for myself. So here ’tis:

Beginning – most of my poetry starts with a visual of some kind. Or should I say, most of my poetry is inspired by some type of visual imagery. It could be a single thing or a combination of a lot of different ones. This particular idea came as I was sitting in a church parking lot, looking at a tree fort that someone had built in their backyard.

And then – for some reason, things generally seem to work better in my writing when they start with pencil and paper. Not sure why…maybe it frees the mind to roam without the fear of “permanence” of being typed out. With this particular poem, I wrote out the entire first draft in one sitting, but just as often I will scribble various words and images, then let it sit for awhile.

Inspiration – In addition to the visual that keys the poem, I try to be open to whatever else is floating around in my mind, with the hope that something might bubble up and connect itself to the current idea. For this poem, some of the word ideas that came included the wonder of childhood, the longing for the past, and the mystery of looking deep into the sky on a starry night, wondering how far the inky black extends…

Surprise – maybe the most important element in any creative work is the surprise. In this case, the poem began with a lighter tone, even playful. I sensed something more hiding in the fun, but it didn’t come until the work was actually being written. Beginning with “And then late, late into the dark…,” there is a definite shift in tone to from playful to melancholy. See if you agree. The trick seems to be to stay wide open to whatever from wherever. Positation!

Meaning – it was a lot of fun to hear other people read the poem and then come up with their own interpretation of what it meant. It gave me a little taste of what it might feel like for a painter to have an audience deconstruct a painting. I happily confess my “meaning” for it wasn’t nearly as profound as the meaning that an audience attributed to it. Which was lovely, actually.

I’m going to post two versions – the original and a revision that came after my workshop feedback. Would love to hear what you think as well. What works? What doesn’t? What would you change and why?

And remember, poems are best read aloud.

Here is a link to both versions. And thanks for taking a look, if you do.

Bright Star


11 Oct

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Posted in Creators, Muse, inspiration | 1 Comment »

491px-John_Keats_by_William_HiltonA movie you’ll be seeing soon is Bright Star, the true story of the Romantic Poet John Keats and the woman who became his muse and inspiration, Fanny Brawne. The reason you’ll be seeing this movie is simple: You want to support great art and to discover how great artists get their inspiration.

Little movies like this are having a harder and harder time getting made. There’s no money in them, or so the studios say. Without any explosions, special effects, space aliens, or other “popcorn movie” elements, Hollywood is saying “no” to more and more projects like this.

So find your way to your neighborhood theater and make sure you vote with your wallet. One of the many reasons I loved this movie was due to the way it dealt with Keats’ creative process. Most of the time he was frustrated and trying to figure out what he wanted to say. Once he met Fanny, she inspired him to reach new heights in his work and inspired his greatest expressions. Here is the poem many think was his last, written to her shortly before his death (at age 23!)

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors–
No–yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever–or else swoon to death.

Here’s also a wonderful little site that explores the production of the movie. See Bright Star soon. It is not one of those movies that will be spending a lot of time in the theaters.

Muse


01 Oct

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Posted in Creating, Muse, Work | No Comments »

I never know when you’ll show up. No advance warnings, no hints, no whiffs of your perfume just before you knock. I don’t know if you’ll arrive on time or at all. And nothing I do seems to attract you. Worst of all, in the moments when I’m hanging out there, desperate for rescue – for even a word or breath of inspiration – - nothing.

The truth is, (you’re always about the truth, aren’t you?) if I pay the price by simply doing the work, CONSISTENTLY, somehow there you are. I’m learning you can’t be forced but must be invited. And the invite isn’t in me wishing, it’s in me doing – taking a few steps into the dark, so to say.

So the answer is in the work itself. You’ll not be deceived. I can jaw away about making time to write (add in your own thing – remember, this is about your muse, too) but unless and until I’m actually sitting in front of the white piece of paper or blank screen (also white, what is that?), you will not condescend to do your part.

Mr. King’s thoughts – “There is a muse, but he’s not going to come fluttering down into your writing room and scatter creative fairy-dust all over your typewriter or computer station. He lives in the ground. He’s a basement guy. You have to descend to his level, and once you get down there you have to furnish an apartment for him to live in. You have to do all the grunt labor, in other words, while the muse sits and smokes cigars and admires his bowling trophies and pretends to ignore you. Do you think this is fair? I think this is fair. He may not be much to look at, that muse-guy, and he may not be much of a conversationalist (what I get out of mine is mostly surly grunts, unless he’s on duty), but he’s got the inspiration. It’s right that you should do all the work and burn all the midnight oil, because the guy with the cigar and the little wings has got a bag of magic. There’s stuff in there that can change your life. Believe me, I know.”

Want more? Here’s Mr. King musing further on his process. Up-front caveat: It’s Stephen King. (And this from a recovered King-aholic. Just so’s you know.)

I’ll own you yet.

Be Mused

every fire needs a spark