Forget the Muse

The best cure for Writer’s Block is to write. Stephen King’s book on writing is one of my favorites. Also, Writing Down The Bones by Natalie Goldberg and Bird By Bird by Ann Lamott. Muscles atrophy when we don’t use them so it only stands to reason that writing does not improve without practice, daily.

A Writer's Path

by Michael Mohr

Today I wanted to talk about the process and act of writing. What I mean by that is the simple craft of regularly putting pen to paper. As Stephen King famously said, “Amateurs wait for the muse to come. The rest of us get working.” That is so incredibly true. When I was a creative writing undergrad at San Francisco State University, like many young [writing] students, I thought that, when the ‘muse’ came, I could then write the Great American Novel.

The truth is—any professional can affirm this—and I hate to break your heart here: There is no muse. The muse is like Santa Clause; it’s a hoax that we tell beginners to try and inspire them. Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. But at some point, if you take yourself seriously as a writer, you will have to let go of the Santa Clause…

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A friend is visiting and much to see and do I hope to incorporate into future posts… meanwhile, I hope you will enjoy some older posts.

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“Ideas may drift into other minds, but they do not drift my way.
I have to go and fetch them. I know no work manual or mental to equal the
appalling heart-breaking anguish of fetching an idea from nowhere.”

– A. A. Milne

blocked

will tortured lines appear
stuttering fingers tremble across
the keyboard
an exercise in hit and miss
the empty mind hopes
perhaps the laws of probability
would be kind
smiling in verse

fingers shudder, spasm and freeze
from a distance, grey matter bounces
thought and metaphor
till they coagulate
in cerebral jelly
synapse arrested
white pages glare
laughingly at me

Bisous,

Léa

Pied fâchés

Instead of the usual quotes, today’s blog is to give a nod to the delightfully creative woman, Sandy Ackers. This is the second poem I have posted that came directly from one of her creative inspirations. You don’t need to have writer’s block to benefit from her “creative bursts”. Just accept the challenge and enjoy the ride. You can find Sandy at Strangling My Muse or http://stranglingmymuse.wordpress.com  Come play in the sandbox!

Pied fâchés

Once again

Came the argument

First there were

The whimpering

Complaints

But as always

They grew louder

You hate that

I have imprisoned

You

In those heavy boots

Thick socks

As we walk

The beautiful hills

That surrounds us

You don’t believe

I do it to protect you

From all the stones

And other detritus

You beg and plead

For sandals

Or total exposure

As always

I make sweet promises

To coax you onward

Afternoon

Having your way with

warm sand

seductively massaging

Prelude to full pardon

Revival at

Sea

Bisous,

Léa

blocked

“Ideas may drift into other minds, but they do not drift my way.
I have to go and fetch them. I know no work manual or mental to equal the
appalling heart-breaking anguish of fetching an idea from nowhere.”

– A. A. Milne

blocked

will tortured lines appear
stuttering fingers tremble across
the keyboard
an exercise in hit and miss
the empty mind hopes
perhaps the laws of probability
would be kind
smiling in verse

fingers shudder, spasm and freeze
from a distance, grey matter bounces
thought and metaphor
till they coagulate
in cerebral jelly
synapse arrested
white pages glare
laughingly at me

Bisous,

Léa

Finding voice

Finding voice…

Be tells me to keep writing

Cait tells me to just write

My past tells me I can’t write

Fear writes for me

Anger writes the loudest, and is most prolific

Joy is silent, nearly invisible

Sadness drones on and on

Pain is sharp, isolated, and intense

Journals are scattered about my home

Tossed into the recesses of the car

They harbor numerous attempts of binge/purge

When moving I will devalue their loyalty

As I shove them through the shredder

The ghosts of childhood critique every effort

They silence me with threats to expose my failure

Deep inside the struggle

To break through the barriers

Quakes with revelatory thunder

Bisous,

Léa