Unmasking the Muse
By Lisa Cron | June 5, 2012 |
Therese here. Today’s guest is someone you’ll see here again. Lisa Cron has written a fantastic new craft book for writers called Wired for Story: The Writer’s Guide to Using Brain Science to Hook Readers from the Very First Sentence, available in July. I’ve had the chance to peruse an advance copy of Lisa’s book, and I can tell you that it’s gold. Truly. Lisa knows of what she speaks, having spent a decade in the publishing industry (W.W. Norton and John Muir Publications) before working as a story consultant and producer for TV (e.g. Showtime) and some prestigious literary agencies (e.g. William Morris Agency). Lisa has also been an instructor through the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program for the last five years. Said the UCLA Film School Screenwriting Chairman, Richard Walter, of Lisa, “Lisa Cron is every serious writer’s dream: a source of caring, candid, capable, creative support. Since she is herself also a writer she brings not merely an analytical and intellectual perspective–though she provides that too–but the essential hands-on, insider’s view that belongs to practitioners alone.”
I’m thrilled she’s with us today to talk about the most mercurial of all writerly imaginings: the muse itself. Enjoy!
Unmasking the Muse
Writers are often led to believe that the muse is responsible for unleashing, not to mention guiding, their creativity. They’re told to tap into the force, write down to the bone, court the muse for all they’re worth, and if they’re lucky, the notoriously capricious muse will speak through them and bring their prose to life. I call it The Myth of the Muse. Because it’s flat-out wrong, and undermines writers at every turn.
We’re all well aware of the myth of the muse. It holds that writing is the prevue of unbridled, unquestioned creativity, and that inspiration comes from some mysterious, external source over which we have no real control. It’s no surprise that inspiration literally means “breathed upon.” Thus the gift of the muse, often vaguely defined as “having a way with words,” is something one receives rather than what one strives for. It’s the muse who magically spins straw into gold, who by breathing on the writer’s prose, brings it to life, as a story. And if a writer loses touch with her muse? Too bad, so sad.
In other words, the myth of the muse encourages writers to fly blind. To write whatever is in their heart, and somehow the muse will transform it into a story. As someone who spent the latter part of her career reading the novels and screenplays that such advice has yielded, I can tell you that it’s not only bad advice, it’s heartbreaking. Because it not only produces monumentally unreadable narratives, it often instills in the writer one of two things:
- A sense of entitlement that translates to blaming the reader for “not getting” it.
- A sense of inferiority that translates to blaming oneself for not having the imagination to create a compelling story.
Both these things lead directly to writers’ block. So, how do you escape this terrible fate? How do you outwit the muse? Unmask her.
Start by understanding that waiting for the muse never works. Ever. You might as well be waiting for Godot.
Why? Because there is no such thing as the muse. The muse, as it turns out, is nothing more than an appealing metaphor meant to explain what, until now, has been viewed as inherently impenetrable, mystical even: the moment that seemingly out-of-the-blue surge of inspiration strikes and suddenly the words seem to flow of their own accord.
So what’s actually happening when you feel like you’ve been struck by lightning? Turns out, it’s not otherworldly magic at all. Like most illusions, there’s a slight of hand. Or make that, a slight of brain. Creativity and inspiration don’t come from some place outside of you, and they aren’t really “out-of-the-blue.” They’re the result of years of hard work, of having the grit and determination to stick to your craft, of hard-won lessons about the way story works.
Nobel laureate Herbert Simon estimates it takes about a decade to really master a subject or craft. By then we’ve gathered upward of fifty thousand “chunks” of knowledge, which the brain has deftly indexed so our cognitive unconscious can access each chunk on its own whenever necessary, whether we’re consciously aware of it or not. That’s why, when you’re in the shower and a brilliant idea pops into your head, it feels like magic.
Simon goes on to explain that this is “why experts can respond to many situations ‘intuitively’—that is, very rapidly, and often without being able to specify the process they have used to reach their answers. Intuition is no longer a mystery.”
Neuroscientist Antonio Damasio agrees: “Outsourcing expertise to the unconscious space is what we do when we hone a skill so finely that we are no longer aware of the technical steps needed to be skillful. We develop skills in the clear light of consciousness, but then we let them go underground, into the roomy basement of our minds.”
The muse in the basement is you. And that inspired creativity? That’s you, too. You are, as the erstwhile Wizard confessed to Dorothy, the man behind the curtain.
The final, and most important, step in unmasking the false muse? Realizing that “having a way with words” isn’t the same as telling a story – it never was. Sure, creating great characters, good dialogue, conflict, vivid scenery, sensory details and artful sentences matter. But what matters most is stepping in and consciously focusing on what we’ve been taught to blindly to trust to the muse: the story itself — the very thing that all those elements are meant to serve.
Take the time to ask “why” of everything in your story. Then ruthlessly edit it. Don’t polish. Don’t prettify sentences. Forget about the sound of the words, concentrate on their meaning. Make sure that everything in your story is there for a story reason. Repeat, again and again, draft after draft. That’s the only way to earn the very last step in the writing process — polishing what has survived the knife.
Real magic only comes from having the grit to dig deep and work hard. That’s how you become your own damn muse. Here’s to unmasking the imposter and kicking her to the curb.
Have you had success becoming your own damn muse? Share your thoughts in comments. And learn more about Lisa and her upcoming craft book, Wired for Story, on her website, and by following her on Twitter and Facebook. Write on!
Photo courtesy fiddle oak
Lisa Cron is the author of Wired for Story: The Writer’s Guide to Using Brain Science to Hook Readers From the Very First Sentence and Story Genius: How To Use Brain Science to Go Beyond Outlining and Write a Riveting Novel (Before You Waste 3 Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere). Her video tutorial, Writing Fundamentals: The Craft of Story, can be found at Lynda.com. Her TEDx talk, Wired for Story, opened Furman University’s 2014 TEDx conference, Stories: The Common Thread of Our Humanity. A frequent speaker at writers conferences, schools and universities, Lisa’s passion has always been story. She currently works as a story coach helping writers, nonprofits, educators and journalists wrangle the story they’re telling onto the page; contact her here.
Whether my muse has been just me all along, having the ability to “…[gather] upward of fifty thousand “chunks” of knowledge, which the brain has deftly indexed so our cognitive unconscious can access each chunk on its own whenever necessary…” seems pretty damn magical to me.
I’ve been striving for damn near ten years to make it seem like I ‘have a way with words,’ but I never considered that component of writing a gift of the muse. Even sharpening story points wasn’t it for me. To me, the gift of the muse, metaphorical or mystical, is the raw stuff that seems to have come from some unknown place, whether it’s my cognitive unconcious or not. Can me a romantic for liking my little muse myth. I’m willing to work, but that kind of magic is not something I’d ever want to kick to the curb. Quite the contrary. Honoring it by making it worthy, and looking for the next taste of it are what keep me going.
Interesting post, Lisa. Looking forward to checking out the new book. I could use instruction on hooking readers from the first sentence. My muse never taught me that trick. ;-)
I’m with you 100% Vaughn – what the brain does is incredibly amazing. It’s staggering, really. I’m not suggesting anyone disregard their capacity for amazement – and I agree, when inspiration strikes, it feels like magic. But it’s not. It’s you. Which is a great thing to honor, and something I’d never want to kick to the curb. It’s the notion that the muse is “other” and that, without it, those magic moments vanish that I want to whack upside the head. It’s hard work, grit and determination that produces blinding, sudden flashes of inspiration (usually in the shower). What’s that old saying, Luck favors the prepared? You sound very prepared, and that’s a very good thing.
I think you’re spot on. As writers, we love words and how they sound. This doesn’t always translate into a gripping story that readers can’t put down. With my second novel, I am working from a more pragmatic place… my Muse has put on her Real World cap.
I can’t wait to read your book; it sounds incredibly helpful.
Thanks Anne, you made me laugh out loud! I love it — a muse in a “real world” cap — actually, that sounds like a story. I’m dying to know how the “real world” would look to a muse — deliciously daunting, I’m thinking. Good luck with your novel!
I’ve always disliked the concept of the Muse– whatever special grasp I have on words, color, melody, and tone, I’ve worked to refine and polish; and it didn’t happen all in a breath!
I’m totally with you, Mary — and especially not in someone else’s breath! I’m just saying ;-).
Hmmmm – I’m not sure I’m buying into this museless mindset. I mean, you yourself acknowledge those powerful in-the-shower moments. So if that’s not the muse, what are some things we can do to make those ideas flow more freely – and more often?
Clearly it takes more than simply working on the craft of writing. Most of us spend a lot of time developing those skills, but that mastery of the mechanics of writing doesn’t ensure that we get better at coming up with *ideas*. (This aligns, I believe, to your assertion that having “a way with words” doesn’t automatically mean you’re a good story teller – and I do agree with you on that.)
So how do we prompt that “slight of brain” to occur on command? Or at least more frequently? What can we work on to become experts not just at writing, but at creating? I ask this not out of argument, but out of a sincere desire to get better at this. Right now I’m very muse-reliant. I’d love to change that, if indeed it’s possible.
Thanks!
Keith, you ask an excellent question – how can you get better at this – and you’re absolutely right, it’s not by learning mechanics or spending time on craft (which are good and necessary things, too). You get better at it by PREPARING better for each story you write. By asking better questions before you begin writing. By knowing what the reader’s brain will be looking for, and what it responds to. That’s when those in-the-shower moments, the ones that feel like magic, tend to occur. They’re really a sign that your brain has internalized enough information that it’s able to process it at warp speed, and hand you an answer without you consciously knowing how you arrived at it. I wish I had more time to go into this here, but my book covers it all, and each chapter has a checklist to make this easier. I’m going to have a couple of them up on my website shortly – if you like I’ll email ‘em to you as soon as they’re up. I’d love to know what you think of them, and if they help.
Thanks, Lisa – I’ll definitely be checking out your book!
I blog and write articles. It never flows easier than when that special something deep inside comes forth and allows me to get to the keyboard and put down the words.
The pure ‘urge’ to write is what I would call my muse. Writing the written word has always been a part of me either in the formality of a letter to family or friends, or putting my thoughts on paper.
So as for having an external muse – no – but there is a spirit in writing that is mystical and magical.
Linda, I hear you, and I think it might just be a matter of semantics. People refer to the “spirit” and “magic” of writing – which is a lovely metaphor. But the reality it stands in for is something just as amazing – and that’s how our brilliant, resilient, unbelievably adaptive brain has evolved, so that it’s capable of creating what seems like magic right there on the page. It doesn’t get better than that!
Yes, the inner sensibility for story and language comes from deep exposure and work. I’m reading Lisa’s book for review right now, and like the way she weaves science with our art. As for how work works, on my Flogging the Quill blog I’ve now done almost 600 critiques of opening chapters, and it doesn’t take more than a few seconds to spot the shortcomings and strengths of the writing and storytelling. It wasn’t like that at first, but now my muse-critic has become a finely honed instrument that I use in my editing work as well. Thanks, Lisa, and I’m liking the way your book resonates with my experience.
Thanks Ray! I’m a big fan, so this means a lot!
Lisa,
Nice post. I used to believe in the muse, but years of drafting novels (including two unpublishable works) have taught me otherwise. Creativity is a learned skill. Thanks for sharing your knowledge.
Thanks! I’m just like you — I learned the hard way. Then again, what other way is there?
I think there’s a happy medium. It also depends on how you see your muse, and how you use that particular metaphor. Personally, I don’t see the muse as a get-out-of-jail-free card to ignore craft and write whatever the hell I want, blaming the reader if she doesn’t “get” it.
I prefer to see the Muse as the inexplicable creative force, the fuel in my engine. I still need to actually *drive*, though.
The muse is not a “get of our jail free card” — you know, that may be my favorite phrase of the day!! I love it! I’m going to be quoting you from now on.
I love the concept of the muse, but not the idea that it is some mythical/sadistic being which enjoys holding out on a whim. My muse is me, the part of myself unaffected by the criticism I heap on me. The part of myself that is confident enough to be daring, to reach into whatever stores of knowledge I keep and fill the plot hole or create a necessary character. My muse is my talent, skill, memory, and sense of fun all coming together at the right time. Always me. Trusting my muse means trusting myself enough to know I can surprise myself and meet a challenge, despite the fear that lives inside me, too.
So beautifully said, I couldn’t agree more. My muse is me, truer words have ne’er been spoken!
I’ll soon begin revisions to the first draft of my YA novel. This is great advice! I love this blog for providing such sage writing advice.
Thanks, Aimee — good luck with the revision! Actually, just being willing to revise puts you miles ahead of the pack. The truest old saw out there is, there’s no writing, only rewriting.
I can’t tell you how important this is. I’ve long felt that depending on the “muse” kills your writing, keeps you from being creative and generally takes away most of the fun, too. Creating comes from asking the right questions–in going deeper. You’ve got a character who wants to burn down his house. Why? What’s lacking in him? What does he need to be a whole person? How is he going to end up? Those are all questions YOU work on, not the muse.
Thank you, thank you, Lisa for this column!
Caroline Leavitt
So well said, Caroline! Thanks!!
Lisa, right you are. There are not two of us, me and the muse. It’s just me. Waiting for the muse to bust the writer’s block? Forget it. Just type.
Here, here! I couldn’t agree more, Dane. Well said!
I think inspiration comes both from within oneself and from a mystical, external source. Personally I believe that my loved ones who have passed on send me guidance occasionally. Sometimes I just “receive” whole paragraphs of text, complete with punctuation. Perhaps it comes from my own subconscious mind, but surely there is something more happening at those times. I agree completely though that good writing requires hard work. If a pianist doesn’t practice her scales and train her fingers, then when the inspiration comes she is unable to play a glorious concerto. It does me no good whatsoever to receive a transmission from any source – inner or outer – if I haven’t developed the skills to convey the idea with clarity and beauty.
Many writers throughout history have spoken of similar mystical experiences, so you’re not alone. My personal belief is that what they’re experiencing comes from the most amazing realm of all: the brain. Either way, here’s to conveying those ideas with clarity and beauty. I’m with you on that all the way!
For me, it’s definitely a happy medium. I begin each writing session with a visualization with my muses. Are they me? Sure! (Me, and a that “something extra” is is undefinable.)
Make that: (Me, and that “something extra” that is undefinable.)
;)
I love the thought of visualizations, it’s so grounding — and that while knowing they’re all you, there is also that place just out of reach. To me, it’s the cognitive unconscious — the place where ideas often bubble up from once the hard work has been done. It is a happy medium!
I don’t know how it works for everybody else. But I experience my writing in two ways. One is the daily step-by-step, write-even-even you-don’t-feel-like-it manner. The other is that inspired muse-like stage, where everything is flowing and it feels incredible. But. Those moments are few and far between. I’d don’t think I’d manage to get a book written just working with those inspired moments.
Exactly! The only difference here is semantic, I think. Whether you think of it as the metaphorical muse, or as your cognitive unconscious at work, it sure sounds as if you have the balance exactly right.
Excellent post. I need to take the little red pill and see things the way they are, which means I am my own muse. Thanks.
Thanks! I don’t know anything about pills, but I do know that you’re your own muse, and I’m all for that!
I never know what to say when people ask me about “the muse.” I kid them and say I time-share a hunk with three other writers. But in truth I’ve never felt I had one. Flaubert said “It’s not the pearls, it’s the way they’re strung together.” Sometimes the pearls feel given, but they’re gifts from me, not a muse, and I have to work like hell to find the strings. In any case, I’m going to send a link to this piece to some of my students. Thanks so much for this!
Thanks Thaisa, you made my day! And so brilliantly said, I’ve never heard the Flaubert quote before — I love it. It’s so true. Here’s to finding the string!
just in case my muse if of the dark fae variety, I cannot write to agree with what the poster has said. just can’t!! seriously, to me the magic and the musing is when that great idea comes to you – then comes the hard work, the dreary work – the important work of crafting that idea. That’s the human part. That’s all you, babe.
I love it when the idea comes to you — it’s just a question of where it comes from. And, whether one sits and waits for it, or whether one, as Jack London so famously said, goes after inspiration with a club. But when it comes to then nailing down the story. Dreary? To me there’s NOTHING more exhilarating than sorting out a story. After all, it’s story that makes us human. Amen to that!
[…] Cron’s (@lisacron) no-nonsense piece Unmasking the Muse on Writer Unboxed can be summarized this way: there is no muse, there’s a build-up of skills […]
As a six-year-old Brownie “flying up” to become a Girl Scout, I participated in a ceremony based on mythical Brownie lore. I was turned in a circle before a mirror on the floor decorated with garlands that were supposed to resemble a pond while the Brownies around me chanted: “Twist me, turn me, show me the elf, I looked in the water and saw myself.” At which point I looked in the mirror/pond on the floor and saw my own reflection.
This truth about life, and about writing, chanted by the Brownies, is unfortunately never touched upon in most creative writing classes. By proclaiming the scientifically backed truth “The Muse is us”, and the furor it inspires, you must empathize with Columbus when he proclaimed the world was not flat.
In his book, Incognito: The Secret Life of Brains, David Eagleman, a neuroscientist (who talks about the recent scientific discoveries that totally back up your Muse pronouncements), notes that science instead of taking away the mystic elements so necessary for human existence, enhances them because the brain is its own miracle. I agree. I often ask for the blessing of “The Muse who dwells within”.
How freeing to know that we have control of our own creativity, and how scary, because the catalyst for all our inspiration is in our own hands. I can’t wait to read your book.
Thanks, Bernadette! That is so beautifully said. And yes, here’s to the muse who dwells within! (And I couldn’t agree with you more about David Eagleman and his book — it’s a life changer. I can’t tell you how honored I felt when he read my book and wrote a back cover quote — it was one of the best days ever.)
I’m not sure how this will be received, or if I should even remark. Please understand that I say this with complete respect toward everyone else’s opinion, but the very idea of any kind of a “muse” is absurd. People write for many different reasons. Some people are very good at it, some are simply terrible, and the rest fall someplace in between.
First, decide who you are writing for. If you’re writing for yourself, then NOTHING matters except how your writing makes YOU feel. And if that’s the case, feel free to believe in a muse or magic squirrels … or any damn thing that makes you feel good.
If you’re writing with the intention of finding a publisher … forget the magic. It’s business; it’s hard work; it’s not always fun. It requires focus, and focus is tough to achieve when you don’t have a clear idea where the story is taking you.
If you’re stuck … write one true sentence. Just one. Then write another. Then another. It doesn’t matter if these sentences will be in the final draft. YOU ARE WORKING TOWARD A GREATER GOAL HERE. And the key word is “work.” If you’re afraid of it, or tired, I get that. But looking for a “muse” to help you out??? The entire concept baffles me.
I’m sorry if this seems overly direct, but I don’t know of any other way to drive the point home. Quality writing is not the result of any kind of magic. It’s the result of hard work. Work that YOU are doing, not some mystical force. Write what you know; write what inspires you; write what makes you feel alive inside. Because if you’re not “feeling” it, I guarantee your readers won’t either.
Respectfully submitted.
Sorry if this seems overly direct? Oh Thomas, you’re singing my song — and on key no less!
Thanks for this. Makes me feel less badly for my failure to “tap into the force.” And I agree on the ruthless business of editing. If I’m just moving commas around or playing with the thesaurus, that’s polishing.
Well said, Mari! Doesn’t it make you nuts how often writers mistake said ruthless editing for polishing? Polishing is something is earned only when one has gone through countless drafts, really zeroing in on the story they’re telling, and paring away every darling. Then comes the genuine pleasure of polishing.
““having a way with words” isn’t the same as telling a story”
YES. THAT.
Confession: That’s what TWILIGHT taught me. That my prose didn’t need to be perfect to grab readers. There’s something else — some emotional vein to be tapped, or a certain sense of tension — that will get readers racing through pages. That’s what I try to cultivate in my writing now.
I love this, Kristin — I have a similar confession! Back in the day I had to read Jackie Collin’s of manuscript THRILL overnight, and write up an analysis in the morning. It was over 800 pages, and delivered to my door by messenger at 6 p.m. How will I stay awake, I wondered, reading such tripe? Instead, I was riveted in spite of myself, and didn’t doze off once. Sure, great prose would have made it even better. But compared to the lyrically written manuscripts in which nothing happened, and nothing added up? Known in the trade as a “beautifully written who cares?” — now they put me to sleep every time.
Indeed! Waiting around for the muse is problematic in that it restricts writers, making us think we can only be creative when something happens to us, rather than when we take action and make ourselves be creative. Now I’m not saying that one can force creativity, but I have found that the more time I spend thinking and dreaming and trying to create, the easier it comes. Creativity is, in some respects, a learned skill, a thing that must be fostered and nourished and practiced over time.
As are all the other things–the ability to weave words well, choose the right ones, trim the wrong or unneeded ones–that turn a story idea into something readable. Even if there was a muse, we’d need these other skills to make the story good.
Well said, Kristin! I completely agree, creativity is a learned skill. As is harnessing that creativity to a story that gives it its full expression. Which translates to: communicates meaning to the reader. It doesn’t get better than that!
Thanks for this post, Lisa. This change of thinking is something I’ve been grappling with and it’s nice to have someone spell it out. I think it’s about growing up and taking responsibility, not deferring to an outside force but acknowledging who and what you are – a creator of new forms.
Thanks, Leanne! I love that — a creator of new forms! That’s exactly what writers do, don’t you think? They take the familiar and make it new, giving it fresh meaning.
[…] time we unmask the myth of the muse, and give credit where credit is due. And I have the honor of saying so on one of the best writing websites in the world: Writer Unboxed. Check it out! Posted by […]
I love your tough love message, strongly supported by our blog pals. I have a muse but I use the term differently. My muse is my wife, Barbara, who encourages and provided permission for me to plunge into the craft of fiction writing. She’s my enabler, not the source of my stories. That comes from within. Later in the process, she becomes my editor and the ‘whip’ if I get distracted or lazy. Such a luxury to have a complete in-house staff that sleeps next to me.
Alex, you are so lucky — here’s to you and your wonderful, loving, whip-cracking muse!
It is my great good fortune to teach alongside Lisa Cron at the UCLA Extension Writer’s Program — and she rocks! Her message rocks, her book rocks! Writers are transformed by her message, and you know why? Their writing is transformed. I have learned so much from Lisa and seen my own work improve enormously because of her lessons. You’d think after six books, I wouldn’t need such help. But I do, I do….
Awww, shucks, thanks Jennie!
I’m a colleague of Lisa Cron’s at the UCLA Extension Writers Program, and I know first-hand that her wisdom is solid gold, as this guest blog demonstrates. Crafting a novel is a complex task, and it’s the responsibility of the author to fully take on that challenge. Here’s my advice to anyone who’s contemplating, or has already begun writing a novel: Read “Wired For Story” upon its publication. If there’s one writing book to buy, this one is it!
Thanks, Lisa! I love what you say about writing a novel being a responsibility — it is, and it’s hard — but knowing that going in helps, because it means that all those drafts you have to go through are par for the course, not a sign that you really should have become an accountant. I’m just saying . . .
Lisa really nails it. I love that she has been in the publishing business and providing guidance to writers by telling them to blow up the writerly mythology. Telling a great story is not a mystical exercise. It is a thoughtful process and understanding how the brain processes story can help any writer, fiction or non-fiction, move more clearly through the expression of their vision to readers. Language matters… and is a gift, yet if as a reader, you can’t thread your way through the logic of the story then all the glorious prose if waste of time. Lisa book is going to help writers cut to the chase and provider readers with far more satisfying experience. Don’t wait for the muse…start thinking story!
Thanks, Jason! I so agree, language matters only once it’s been harnessed to an underlying story. After all, words aren’t just sounds (lovely, lyrical, poetic), words are the conveyors of meaning. In other words: story. It always comes back to that!
What a brilliant post! I’m always absolutely fascinated by anything to do ith the neurobiology of creativity, and so your book is now on my wish list. I’ll also check our your website and blog. I’m one of those writers who is never happy unless they are writing, and my most favourite thing in the world is reaching that state of flow when I feel like a conduit from a high power, discovering a story that was always meant to be told. Its powerful and its mysterious and its addictive. But I’ve learnt how to harness it. I have to work hard, I have to think hard, I have to write hard , I have to ponder and dream about the book all the time … and then I feel the gear change in my brain as all the neural paths begin to sing together.
Sometimes it happens easily; sometimes I really need to work hard atit. But I’ve learnt to trust it will always come. And I know that it’s me – my heart and imagination and brain working together.
Oh Kate, this is so astute, and so beautifully said! I’m always surprised when writers shun the neurobiology of creativity, as if not wanting to believe it’s true makes it so. I’m even more surprised when they think that somehow it cheapens or detracts from the delicious sense of wonder at those moments when it just flows. The brain is such a profound beautiful mystery. Isn’t that enough?
I’m coming late, but I think if you’d said this in your wonderful, tough-love post, there’d have been less resistance to your message: “I’m even more surprised when they think that somehow it cheapens or detracts from the delicious sense of wonder at those moments when it just flows. The brain is such a profound beautiful mystery. Isn’t that enough?”
It’s like medicine. We study the enzymes and the capillaries and the mechanism by which the leg-bone connects to the knee-bone. We might even gain an understanding of how it all works. But that doesn’t erase the mystery of why, or that it does in the first place.
You are SO right, Jan! I wish I’d thought of it before – but that’s what is so incredibly fabulous about this exchange. There’s nothing more exhilarating than talking story (and where it comes from) with writers — it really makes you dig deep and think. One thing’s for sure, you can bet I’m going to be saying exactly that the next time this comes up!
I’ve only been in this writing gig for three years now and I never understood this elusive “muse” thing. I loved your post. And I wholeheartedly agree with you.
Thank you for the lucid explanation.
Patti
Thanks, Patricia!
I was suppose to get a muse? Damn.
Denise Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth
Ha! Well said! (and thanks for the laugh; it’s been a long day, and that felt good!)
Your book sounds like a valuable tool for helping grow our muse. Our muse can only grow through practice and hard work. Mistakes and criticism and beautiful prose all feed the muse. I find that I write better if I write daily (Not that I do – life gets in the way). Thank you for your valuable hints and encouragement. I just subscribed to your website and will join Facebook and twitter. Hoping your book sells well.
HM at HVC dot RR dot COM
Thanks, Heather! What I love about what you’re saying is that it’s not only okay to not get it “right” the first time, but that THAT’S how we learn. So, it’s a good thing, not something to be afraid of, or see as a sign of failure. It’s the not just part of the process, it IS the process. And, when you look at it that way, it’s always exciting, because the more you can pare away, the closer you get to the heart of what you’re writing about. Right?
Thanks for this Lisa. Can’t wait to read your book.
Now, about my muse (I’m gonna get it for this).
Briellezbub is more than a pen name, she is a personality that captured me perhaps five or more years ago now. She is a cruel Mistress, a minion of Lady Art, who in turn commands me by taking over my body and soul whenever an impulse of creativity strikes me; creatio ex nihilo. I have only known Lady Art through visions and dreams – these creations belong to her, as now I know I am merely a puppet. This came to me once; it is of the Lady Art – I have paid dearly I’m sure for sharing it, but here it is again:
“You know, I don’t have any expectations of this work, these little pieces. From time to time, I look at them, listen to them, and at the end of whatever they say, I have an experience of exaltation. It is from Her; I couldn’t possibly expect more from existence. In the parallel world there is the cruel lesson I have learned from Lady Art. I may think, ‘I like writing and making music’, and that is all well and fine. But once the book is open, the story will appear; Lady Art does not wait, she enters with a gong, takes you, then leaves you whenever she chooses: prone, naked, and alone.” ~ Briellezbub
*as an addendum to being posted here: prone, naked, and alone… with a whole mess of editing to do.
I love it! My take? That Briellezbub is a very clever part of your brain playing dress up. But does it matter? What matters, I think, is having the courage to surrender to the the messy process of creativity — a process that as you say, can enter with a gong and take you, and then leaves you with a whole passel of editing, cutting and reworking to do (which is even more creative, I think, and the mark of true writer). It’s all good, and it’s all you. (Personally, I’ve never had a muse, but there is this very kind character in my head named Uncle Felix — think Edward Everett Horton in the movie “Holiday” — who’s been know to offer pearls of wisdom from time to time. But don’t tell anyone I said that.)
Thanks Lisa. Briellezbub has asked Felix out for dinner. We’ll see what kind of shenanigans they get up to!!
Now THAT’S a story!!!
I relate! I thought I was unique when I came up with my best ideas in the shower. I find great strength in the knowledge of your book. This information allows everyone to write on an even playing field. We all have the muse within ourselves is what you are saying. That is a hard concept for some people to accept, that they have the control and responsiblity to do it themselves. But I love it. It frees me to create. You know your stuff!
Thanks Joyce! I couldn’t agree with you more — knowing the muse is actually us is incredibly liberating. Plus, there’s nothing more enervating than sitting around waiting for inspiration . . . ironically, it’s the wait that tends to give rise to the voice in your head tends to sound suspiciously like your third grade teacher who was sure you’d never live up to your true potential. Action begets action; waiting begets doubt. Don’t you think?
A fascinating blog and subject, Lisa! Your words remind me of one of my favorite writing quotes by Peter DeVries:
“I write when I’m inspired, and I see to it that I’m inspired to write at 9 o’clock every morning.”
Yes, there is a Muse of sorts, but she dwells in that place where we meet her, at the junction between our 10 years of experience and the time we sit down to write each day.
Thank you, and I look forward to reading your upcoming book!
Thanks, Jennifer! I love that quote — it’s so true!
[…] This article claims that when it comes to writing, “the muse” is just a myth. I tend to agree, because then it gives you an excuse not to write [Writer Unboxed] […]
Having been a student of Lisa’s in a UCLA Master Class, I can say that her whole approach to story is worth gold! Knowing the myth of the muse gives sense to the fact that you’re going to have to spend countless, senseless, hours rewriting and working on your craft- despite the level of initial talent a lot can be learned if one’s willing and driven- at least that’s what my muse is telling me. Thanks for the excellent blog, it motivated me to work. Your clarity on how to help writers is astounding. Can’t say how lucky I feel to have your influence.
I’ve been a well-published novelist for 30 years, and I studied screenwriting with the likes of the astounding John Truby (who called one of my scripts “perfect”) and I placed in the top 20 of the Nicholl competition. My HarperCollins suspense novel (now republished as EVIL DOES IT by Joseph King) sold nearly 100,000 copies,….all of which is a long way to say that I understand the value of structure, form, and gritty hard work in writing effective stories and fiction.
That said, I do respectfully disagree with much of this post. The left brain is important and shouldn’t be minimized in writing, but so is the right brain. I’ve had countless times when my imagination took flight, while GROUNDED in the nitty-gritty of plotting, and that’s when my story really became interesting.
I just wrote a blog post about it, as it happens, where I agree with Elizabeth Gilbert’s TED lecture about the same subject.
All best, Josephine Carr
Josephine, we’re not disagreeing at all! You’re describing exactly what I’m writing about. I’m not saying that it doesn’t feel as if it’s coming out of the blue, simply that it’s not — it’s coming from your brain. It’s precisely because you’ve spent those countless hours mastering your craft, that when your imagination takes flight the results are so splendid. Left brain/right brain — it’s all the brain, working in tandem to create something that reads like magic!