Hello friends! I apologize for being a stranger these past several weeks. The month of May took me by surprise in a few ways and as a result, my attention has been pulled from this hallowed writing sphere.
Well, I’m back. Because I’ve been missing you. Because I’ve been missing the feel of the keys under my finger tips. Because I can sense the creative part of my brain shrinking, or starving, or itching for a scratch. The Muse has been waving her hand in the back of the room, but now she’s up in my face and undeniable.
So I submit. I write.
The past month and a half has brought me to a new place professionally in some ways. Though, whether it is a good place or not remains to be seen. The day job, the motherhood and the exigent need to write are three throwing knives I’ve been trying to juggle. Only, I never learned how to juggle. So, I end up with lots of cuts and bruises. I “NEED A BAND AID,” as my three-year-old would say. Well, not “say” so much as YELL across the house. She doesn’t really need a band aid, but she wants a band aid because she believes that band aids are body art meant to be pasted all over her arms and legs. Oh that it were true, and that she would never actually need a band aid — but she will and she does sometimes. I do. We all do.
The funny thing is, this is often my band aid. Writing is what relaxes me. It releases my anxiety. It brings me joy. It challenges me. It fixes me. It saves me. Only, during the times that I need it the most, I cannot seem to do it. I let everything else get in the way. I push The Muse to the back of the room and throw a blanket over her head. I continue tossing knives high in the air in a cringe-worthy performance of stubbornness. Willfully pursuing the wrong means to the wrong ends. Glutton for punishment.
But this is the balancing act, right? We all try to balance reality and dreams. We try to balance passion and pragmatism. And Time. We are all slaves to Time. And what I need to do is take one of those knives I’m struggling to juggle and carve out some Time for this.
For you. For me.
I must succumb to The Muse. We all must.
O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.
What do you do when you’re missing The Muse?