For the first time in forever, I hear him. Or maybe ‘feel’ would be a better word.
The faintest whisper, flitting through my brain like a hummingbird zeroing in on its favorite flower. He buzzes about, hither and yon, ignoring my swats of annoyance until he finally gets my attention.
I run for my favorite chair, coffee cup in hand, and grab my laptop. Could it be? After all this time he’s returned?
Oh, my dear sweet muse. How I’ve missed you.
It’s been so long. Terrible months when I’d begun to fear my passion was gone forever. Life’s gotten in the way. My emotions have been on a rampage, never giving me a moment’s peace. And writing’s been the LAST thing on my mind with guilt holding tightly to first place.
I’ve backpedaled on commitments and lost the battle as I’ve struggled to edit my current work in progress. My blog languishes in cyber space, dormant and cobwebbed. Occasionally I stop by just to stare lovingly. I adore its sharp presentation yet the theme taunts me: “Writing Without Fear. . .Courageously Sharing With the World.” (Check out Roar of a Lioness—it’s quite lovely.)
And therein lies the problem: Once again, fear has overtaken me. I’ve given in to dreaded failure and become trapped in “I’m too scared to write” mode.
Once again, fear has overtaken me. I’ve given in to dreaded failure and become trapped in “I’m too scared to write” mode.
What if I never finish my book? What if no publisher ever wants it. Or the worst: What if people hate it?
No wonder my muse went on the lam.
Yet he shouldn’t have abandoned me, no matter how disgusted he was with my whining. You’d think he would be a little more understanding. Is it my fault that life has gone awry? I can’t help it that when emotions explode, creative brain cells flee.
Or can I?
But in the end, these are all nothing more than excuses. Valid? Maybe, but I’ve scuffled with this for years. I recognize it and know what steps are necessary to come out the other side. . .then turn right around and re-enter that dark place again later on down the road. Such a vicious cycle of self-destruction.
I can only partly blame my muse for this mess because ultimately, the responsibility lies solely with me. And I’m the only one that can fix it.
Time so suck it up, Buttercup.
Since my elusive muse has returned, it’s my job to welcome him back. And probably beg his forgiveness. I thought he might never glance my way again, so irritated was he at my pathetic lack of backbone. Hopefully we can begin to repair our relationship that has been so damaged by circumstances and life.
If he’s willing, I’m in.
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