Dear Erin,
Today, after lunch, I gathered up one of the chocolate, chocolate cookies we made at our house yesterday and ambled up the stairs to write you a letter. I’m well aware of how "out of practice” I am, when it comes to my old writing routines, because, in days of yore (i.e., last school year) I would have made myself start writing before I allowed myself to eat the cookie and this time I just ate the cookie while re-reading your letter. With the cookie gone, I’m not sure what I’ll use to compel myself forward from this introductory paragraph. It was a rich enough cookie (dark chocolate cocoa powder, Ghirardelli chocolate chips) that I can’t promise myself a second one, as my stomach seems to be in a somewhat healthy mood and has broadcasted its disinterest in downing the entire plateful of deliciousness.
By tomorrow I might be there, but today… today, I’m still feeling reasonable about baked goods.
Speaking of baked goods, that last paragraph of yours—about baking—has really captured me, and not necessarily because of the baking, but because of the muse you mentioned, the one who was tempting you away from your words… Because, and this is a very important question:
What is with these muses???
Here we are, diligently trying to be Writers: playing the game of repetitive practice, reading books diligently with an eye toward craft, shoring up friendships to commiserate on difficulties, playing the game of repetitive practice yet again. And then… and then… another muse shows up!!! Another muse completely intent on sucking all our energy and interest away for something of its own?
Where is the ref? Where is the call for interference?
Not only am I trying to throw the writing football while simultaneously catching it at the opposite end of the field, but all these different muses keep sticking out their arms to block the ball from my reaching fingertips.
I’ll admit it right now, the Baking Muse (or any form of Cooking Muse) is not a muse that visits my house at all (apparently it’s well employed at your home), but I do have one that keeps pushing embroidery patterns at me. Another with watercolor paint. And a third with my garden, and then my garden again. This doesn’t even begin to mention the Crocheting Muse, the Hiking Muse, or the somewhat reclusive—but all-consuming when present—Clutter Muse that wants to entirely detox my house. How many hours in the day do these muses think I’ve been allocated? Sure, my kids might have all gone to school, but they are coming back. That is the nature of school, you see. (In fact, there’s already only 1 hour left.)
Meanwhile the Writing Muse likes to play hard to get and seems to be entirely obsessed with napping. (The Napping Muse!!! I think that one’s waiting for me downstairs too!!!!) To be honest, it’s as if the Writing Muse feels so certain of itself and its own massive importance that it’s invited all these other muses over for a party in my family room, like it’s trying to make a point about how special and exciting it is, and how, even with them here, I can never live without it.
Hasn’t anyone ever taught the Writing Muse some good relationships skills? About how showing up when you’re expected and doing what you said you would do creates trust in a relationship? About how treating another person’s time with respect is a way to show love? I listened to someone chat about gardening last Saturday, and it seems like the Gardening Muse actually treats people well. It even rewards them with vine-ripened tomatoes and bouquets of fresh flowers to put on their counters. Is the Writing Muse so sure I won’t send it packing and trade for something else?
It seems to be, the little imp.
You’ll have to tell me how the battle went between your two muses. It’s only a sign of how deluded I am that I’m even hoping the Writing Muse won out. Sigh. I think it’s got us cornered, Erin. You may have managed to eke out a few baked goods last week, but I bet that Writing Muse still got you in the end.
Jamie
"Not only am I trying to throw the writing football while simultaneously catching it at the opposite end of the field, but all these different muses keep sticking out their arms to block the ball from my reaching fingertips." That is probably the best sports analogy I've ever read. :)