So, yet again, I have been woken up at 4am by THE CALL.
I put the pillow over my head trying to ignore it, but this is not a call that can be ignored. It’s urgent and seductive with very specific instructions, so as I do every time I get THE CALL, I kiss the sleeping hot viking beau, and tip toe out of the bedroom and into my office/temple/writer-girl space. I light a candle, burn my favourite incense and wrap myself in my writer-girl blanket and our affair of the heart begins.
That’s what happens when you get THE CALL. It’s a li’l bit like a booty call except this early morning visitor does not seek instant gratification, no, she’s all about long term pleasure, she whispers sweet words of wisdom and insight into my ear and then demands I caress the keys of my laptop until it culminates in a delicious orgasmic peak of…finished book.
Now, this is different for every author, but my muse? She’s an early riser. Yep, this girl o’ awesome can leave me without word-love for entire weeks – g-friend is a tease – then, without warning, arrive totally unannounced at 4am, demanding we get down and dirty at the keyboard and whack out the wordage ’til we’re both in need of a much needed lie-down.
I don’t know how cool it is to compare my muse, my goddess o’ word weaving, to an early morning booty caller – hey, I’m just calling it as it is – but this early morning menage a trois between the muse, the laptop and myself, is one of such delicious pleasure that it’s the only thing that could ever pull me away from the arms of that hot viking beau of mine. Thing is, she’s completely in charge, which is all good when she’s inspired and willing to share, but there are times, when my muse, like all goddesses should, wants to recline on a chez lounge and get fed grapes by a hot greased up dude in a toga.
Now like ALL booty callers, my muse cannot be relied upon. If I were to sit around and wait for her to show up before I wrote, nothing would get written. NOTHING. Writing with her is so decadent and divine that once you’ve done it, going solo can be a massive let down, but do you know what? I do it anyway. I have to. I write in my journal, I write words for the next book, I dance with words in a blog post, because it’s kinda like that painter dude, Picasso said:
…Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working…
My muse needs to know I’m completely serious about being a writer girl, so that when she does turn up on my doorstep, because like that booty caller, she ALWAYS does, except instead of a bunch of garage flowers and a nasty bottle o’ wine, she comes armed with pen, paper and a wistful look in her eye at 4am wanting to indulge in a li’l morning wordplay, I need to be ready. If I’ve been writing anyway, we can get straight down to it. There’s no messy stumbles because I’ve forgotten how, there’s no awkward pauses, we just curl up in my day bed, and create some rather lush divine flow together. We’re simply in the moment. I know she won’t stay, she never does, it just makes the times when she does call, all the more sweeter, y’know? But unlike those who are visited by the early morning booty call, I don’t feel used, my words have more meaning, I’m left feeling inspired and vitalised and most importantly, my muse doesn’t give me herpes and that’s such a good thing.
When does your muse come to call? If at all? How do you cope between visits? Do you have a direct dial to your muse? I would love to hear your relationship with the muse…