As a writer, the only thing that separates us from so-called normal people is that thin membrane called: the imagination. Our ability to imagine is our power source. We each have our respective muses, which can appear as people, places or things. Sports teams, actors, even animals can inspire us in ways that have nothing to do with logic.
Like falling in love, it’s all more of a sense or feeling. My muse is James Dean. I don’t know why I chose him or why he chose me, but that’s just the way it is. As a young child, I saw EAST OF EDEN and was riveted by his raw, emotional style. He was able to capture and express those untapped feelings inside of me: isolation, rage, and wonder.
Whenever I happen to see his photographs I have to take a moment. He somehow encourages me to go further. That’s essentially what a muse does. I suppose some people might define a muse as a guardian angel, but that’s not quite how I see it. For a writer (and I’m positive it works in a similar fashion for other artists) receiving a dose of inspiration is like a cup of water in a drought.
What we fear most as artists, is apathy. Writer’s block is a good example of apathy taking root. To fight this, I get the best ideas when I drive. Is that because Dean was a racer? I’m not sure, but I know that when I push down the accelerator, I feel alive. I don’t speed, mind you, and I’m not a daredevil, but I do start to feel more creative as the car barrels down the road. Where do I end up? Practically anywhere.
The longest muse-fueled sojourn I took was to Roseville, California. It was early and I had been driving for six, seven hours. Suddenly inspired to write, I had to find a place to settle down and begin putting pen to paper. I found a cozy little Roseville hotel and sank into a week-long writing frenzy. When the muse calls, you listen, no matter where you happen to be.
If the muse suddenly leads you to the Golden State, you can’t miss with any of the hotels in Roseville, CA. Let go — and let the muse take control.
