Every writer and artist has at least one personal muse and I believe one of mine lives in soap bubbles and steam. My shower muse has been generous to me lately and I have been tremendously grateful. And tremendously neglectful.
It has been my newly developed Plan to get up earlier, get house stuff (making breakfast, laundry, cleaning, etc) or ranch stuff (feeding horses, shoveling sawdust, cleaning the chimney, etc) completed by 11 and devote 11 a.m. to 1 or 2 p.m. to writing. It is to be my time when the animals are out playing, the man is doing man stuff, and no one needs me.
Every day this week I have started my morning out with a wealth of ideas for my writing, plot development, post subjects, character defining details, etc. I’ve been enthusiastic and inspired. It’s been wonderful! And every day other “ranch tasks” have cropped up and eaten away my hours to the point I haven’t even been able to jot down the basic elements of all the beautiful and (seemingly) eloquent stories I’ve been brimming with.
So last night I made a stand, not that I really needed to, I have all the support and encouragement I could ever hope for to spend time on my writing. But I did it for me, because supposedly if you announce your goals to others, you are more likely to follow through on achieving them. “I’m not letting ANY other tasks interrupt me tomorrow, I’m not doing ranch stuff, I am writing! I am sticking to The Plan!”
Today the plan was totally on track, all was running smoothly. I got in the shower at 10:45 prepared with “writing clothes” to dress in afterwards, man fed and outside, kitchen clean, laundry hung. It’s usually in the shower that my brain, cleared of to-do lists and freed by hot water and solitude, gets all stormy.
Today my shower muse did not come to visit.
I cranked up the heat of the water. No ideas. I washed and conditioned with my eyes closed. No inspiration. I soaped, then shaved, then soaped again. No little character voices. I stared at the wall. My mind stayed as blank as the beige tub. I dredged my memory for the creative sparkles of yesterday. The dull chunks I dug up held no luster, let alone the glinting excitement and detail I knew existed the first time the shower muse presented them to me. I turned off the shower, dried off in silence, and put shimmer on my eyelids in a last attempt to attract my benevolent friend. No luck.
I’ve offended my muse.
I got out my pen and notebook. I turned on my computer. I instagrammed a desperate plea for help from other sources. I made cookies. I prepared dinner. I drank extra coffee. I ate chocolate. Nothing. I can’t even come up with the brainpower to respond to an email coherently!
I had a week FULL of inspired ideas and a caffeine like buzz of motivation, and I wrote not a single word of it down. It’s now 3:05 p.m. “Me time,” even extended by my supportive treasure of a boyfriend, was a complete waste.
I’m sorry muse. I’m so sorry. I have all the time in the world here and I still spent every ounce of it this week on uncreative and non-goal achieving endeavours. I realize my mistake and I promise to be more mindful and actively embracing of the gifts you give me.
Please come back.
And, um, if I promise to bring my coffee into the shower tomorrow and pour out a little just for you… could you bring me back the awesomeness I wasted from the last few days? That was some really good stuff…