Oh Muse, where art thou…

I cannot percolate story ideas for anything right now.

I’ve read some great books lately (finished Raising Steam and Mort by Terry Pratchett, both wonderfully satirically hilarious), watched art in the form of television (oh my dear lord – watch Hannibal – this show is poetry in motion, fantastic tension and so beautifully filmed/written/acted), listened to music (the new Afghan Whigs is sublime) that usually prompts more ideas than my brain knows what to do with. All of these things usually combine to kick-start my own creative juices to flowin, and I just plop down and write. Pfffft- witness the sound of my deflation ~snicker~

I’ve read submissions and prompts for new and old writing challenges. Nothing. I ended up with some disjointed brainstorming half sentences, that maybe on another day will transform into characters that I feel like I know, but not today. What do we say to the Gods of Writing? Not today. Apparently. With much ill will. *at least I have Game of Thrones to look forward to tonight*

I got nothin’. It doesn’t worry me, but it does annoy the ever loving shit out of me. When I’m in the mood to write and I find that I don’t have anything to say when I sit down, I get cranky as bugger all. It’s like having PMS while being over-caffeinated and stuck in a line at Walmart for hours surrounded by adults screaming with laughter into their cell phones while trying to pass off expired coupons and ignoring their children.

Yeah, that annoying.

I tried to think about something else, anything else – I enjoyed an hour of active yoga, a twenty minute savasana, a nice long hot shower. Trying to let go of the fact that I wanted to write today. I watched a little kid running laps around the courtyard, apparently from his dad’s yelled encouragement as conditioning for Pee-Wee Football (I thought that was the wrong sport for this season, but I admit I’m not much for the sports except for hockey) and my cat having staring contests with fat little birds sitting in our bushes. All of these things felt good, they made me happy, they made me feel calm and centered. However, coming back to sit and try again, I feel an almost instant urge to go whale away on my heavy bag. Bunged up knuckles would not be helpful for typing though, and I’m not one to provide myself with an easy out.

So, maybe today is a day to surf Netflix (I like, or love, whatever, to watch Gossip Girl whenever the manly man is out on the town on his own manly pursuits 😉 and dick around tumblr instead of create something myself. Although I feel sort of masochistically tenacious and will prolly just end up coming back to a blank screen again and again. Maybe, if come up with enough random lines, I can string them together and pretend that I was trying to write like Jack Kerouac on Benzadrine. Yeah, yeah, that’s totally what I was going for, completely on purpose.

Which is, I think, how it’s supposed to go. Sometimes, anyway…

Speaking of Kerouac, I’ll end this with my all time favorite passage from On the Road:

‘And for just a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach, which was the complete step across chronological time into timeless shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, with a phantom dogging its own heels, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the angels dove off and flew into the holy void of uncreated emptiness, the potent and inconceivable radiances shining in bright Mind Essence, innumerable louts-lands falling open in the magic moth-swarm of heaven. I could hear an indescribable seething roar which wasn’t in my ear but everywhere and had nothing to do with sounds. I realized that I had died and been reborn numberless times but just didn’t remember especially because the transitions from life to death and back to life are so ghostly easy, a magical action for naught, like falling asleep and waking up again a million times, the utter casualness and deep ignorance of it. I realized it was only because of the stability of the intrinsic Mind that these ripples of birth and death took place, like the action of wind on a sheet of pure, serene, mirror-like water. I felt sweet, swinging bliss, like a big shot of heroin in the mainline vein; like a gulp of wine late in the afternoon and it makes you shudder; my feet tingled. I thought I was going to die the very next moment. But I didn’t die, and walked…’

Possibly my all time favorite literary passage of all time, ever. Shit gives me goose bumps, son 🙂

I will not die, I will walk on.

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Categories: Non-Fiction Nonsense | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

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7 thoughts on “Oh Muse, where art thou…

  1. The stories, they will come.

  2. I know the feeling. I wrote only my little poems for the last month or more until finally it gnawed on me and the words spilled. Not smoothly or well, but a jump-start. In any case you did write today, your own words and someone else’s. I’ve heard writers suggest that.. write out favorite passages for inspiration. And so you did. The stories will come, as Sam says. On another note…. I watched a few episodes of Hannibal’s first season, and I agree – the acting is top notch, as is the writing. And I love the actor who plays Hannibal. But, I must have a lower tolerance for grisly. I had to give it up because of that.. too graphic for little ole’ me.

    • Yeah, it’s weird how it’ll be months where even a moth softly whumping against a screen door will trigger inspiration for a thousand words, and then there’s just empty space. I try not to let it get me down, but hoo boy, do I get pissed 😉
      I have a hard time watching realistic violence anymore (I covered my eyes, and ears, during a couple parts of Django Unchained for instance) but stylized violence I can’t get enough of. It’s like each act of violence is more artistic than the last and I am horribly and intensely fascinated, studying each tableau they present. Mads Mikkelsen? Dude, I’ve even watched all of his Dutch films, that man is a god among mortals 😉

  3. E.W. Storch

    You just told a story about not being able to tell stories. I don’t see the problem. 😉

  4. ^What he said. 🙂

    I’ve never seen Gossip Girl myself; I’m going through Frasier right now, and Doctor Who, Voyager, Psych….. goodness. So much to see, so little time.

    • Ha, I’ll take it 🙂
      Television gets a bad rap, I think, prolly cos there really is so much trite shite out there. The stuff that’s good though, is completely worthwhile. Now, I understand that Gossip Girl isn’t everyone’s bag (I get teased a lot for it, but that doesn’t stop the ‘wait, who’s the brunette sleeping with again? what happened to the blond guy with bangs? questions), but Doctor Who? Hannibal? Fargo? That shit is genius, son.

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