Snubbing the Muse
This piece originally appeared on the Story Studio Chicago blog, Cooler by the Lake, on October 27, 2005. Thanks, Jill!
A friend of mine checked in on my work with a current writing project. I had been toiling over it for months, deciding where to go with the story, wading through stacks of comments from workshops, and changing to a first person narrator to heighten the emotion. My friend has been quite the cheerleader for this project, so after I whined and cried a little about the rigors of getting it finished for a deadline, she cheerily sent me an email with the greeting: Good luck tonight. May the muse be with you.
I was immediately overwhelmed! She had wished a muse upon me. I now had no excuse but to sit down and finish my story.
Later that evening, burdened by my muse, I turned on my laptop. I was ready to ride my plot line all the way down the arc with my muse snuggling closely beside me, whispering sweet words of inspiration in my ear. But first, out of habit, I pulled up the Internet for a quick check of the news (insert comments here about looking at the Internet during writing time). The headline: U.S. Military Deaths in Iraq Reach 2,000. I turned to my muse and said, “Ride’s over. You’re going to have to leave.”
“Well, I never!” she replied and hastily got up and slammed the door.
Michael, the main character of my story, is a marine fighting the war in Iraq. His concerns are of when he might grab his next smoke and what to do about the Iraqi man who wants to share a cigarette with him. But in light of 2,000 deaths is this really Michael’s story? I have a totally different direction in which to go, with emotion, and an ending that ties it all together. I even had a muse! But each time I tried to write the next scene in which Michael talks with a comrade, I picture him and his friend continually looking around in fear, worried about becoming number 2001.
My writing group would probably tell me that I was “overparenting” Michael, a term from Charles Baxter that we have been throwing around lately in relation to a writer’s ability to understand their character too well and too quickly. Maybe Michael isn’t as concerned about the number 2,001 as I am.
My story has a happy ending. My muse was waiting outside my building for me this morning. We walked to work and talked some of this over. I even treated to Starbucks to make amends. We decided that Michael still has a story, whether or not it involves the latest headline. I have been sidetracked temporarily, but I have some overparenting of myself to do. Once I am able to put this in perspective I will pick up my laptop, Michael will pick up his cigarette, and his story will go on.
A friend of mine checked in on my work with a current writing project. I had been toiling over it for months, deciding where to go with the story, wading through stacks of comments from workshops, and changing to a first person narrator to heighten the emotion. My friend has been quite the cheerleader for this project, so after I whined and cried a little about the rigors of getting it finished for a deadline, she cheerily sent me an email with the greeting: Good luck tonight. May the muse be with you.
I was immediately overwhelmed! She had wished a muse upon me. I now had no excuse but to sit down and finish my story.
Later that evening, burdened by my muse, I turned on my laptop. I was ready to ride my plot line all the way down the arc with my muse snuggling closely beside me, whispering sweet words of inspiration in my ear. But first, out of habit, I pulled up the Internet for a quick check of the news (insert comments here about looking at the Internet during writing time). The headline: U.S. Military Deaths in Iraq Reach 2,000. I turned to my muse and said, “Ride’s over. You’re going to have to leave.”
“Well, I never!” she replied and hastily got up and slammed the door.
Michael, the main character of my story, is a marine fighting the war in Iraq. His concerns are of when he might grab his next smoke and what to do about the Iraqi man who wants to share a cigarette with him. But in light of 2,000 deaths is this really Michael’s story? I have a totally different direction in which to go, with emotion, and an ending that ties it all together. I even had a muse! But each time I tried to write the next scene in which Michael talks with a comrade, I picture him and his friend continually looking around in fear, worried about becoming number 2001.
My writing group would probably tell me that I was “overparenting” Michael, a term from Charles Baxter that we have been throwing around lately in relation to a writer’s ability to understand their character too well and too quickly. Maybe Michael isn’t as concerned about the number 2,001 as I am.
My story has a happy ending. My muse was waiting outside my building for me this morning. We walked to work and talked some of this over. I even treated to Starbucks to make amends. We decided that Michael still has a story, whether or not it involves the latest headline. I have been sidetracked temporarily, but I have some overparenting of myself to do. Once I am able to put this in perspective I will pick up my laptop, Michael will pick up his cigarette, and his story will go on.
posted by dmcg at 9:07 AM
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