I don’t know if I have a muse or not, though I’m sure I have an internal critic. I’m assuming they’re not the same thing or at least I hope they’re not. The critic seems a lot more intrusive and – dare I say? – powerful, which makes it very uncomfortable when I try to put my thoughts down. Writing is no fun and is hard work when the critic is present.
But there have been times when I’ve written something, usually something fairly long, and sort of came out of “trance” afterward and wondered, “Where did that come from?” I’m usually surprised at how good it is, too.
I mean, I’m a good writer, but the content is generally more powerful than my usual thoughts. I’m assuming I’ve been “amused” at that time. Not that I wasn’t aware of what I was typing, not that deep a trance, but my fingers seemed to be typing of their own accord, or somebody’s accord besides mine.
There’s a difference between what “I” write and what my amusing friend writes, both in content and in feeling. When I write it tends to be a bit of a struggle, time drags and my thoughts don’t flow as smoothly as I would hope, and the writing seems dry and pedantic.
When my amusing friend writes, it’s no struggle at all, words come easily, and there doesn’t even seem to be thoughts as such at all. Time flies, and the writing has more life and flavor. More savor. Maybe it takes a bit of editing here or there but for the most part, it stands pretty well as written.
That’s how “I’d” like to write all the time and I despair when I can’t or don’t. It’s also what keeps me from writing at all. If I can’t write that way I just don’t want to work so hard at it only to come up with something blah. Not a good attitude but it’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Besides, that inner critic – her name is Edna – has a lot to say about what I write; she doesn’t seem to get in the way when the amuser is present, though. That must mean something.
I don’t know the name of the amuser and I’d sure like to know what it is. I mean, there’s Erato and Sophia and even “Self,” so many good names, and yet none “dings” when I say it. I realize that when we name something we limit it and maybe that has something to do with her being nameless. About all I’m sure of is that the amuser is a she. But then, so is Edna. But she’s limited.