The Madness of the Muses
By Sarah Callender | August 14, 2013 |
Since most of you can’t easily pop over for a visit at Casa Callender, may I let you in on a little secret? My house is a wreck. The toilets are a health hazard. My bedroom closet should have CAUTION tape across the door. The piles of too-small kids’ clothes I swore I’d take to the Goodwill in May still sit in the guest room. Summer Projects look like they will become Fall Projects (or Never Projects).
In my personal life, things feel equally ignored. I have mostly stopped exercising so everything’s feeling rather low and swingy. I keep forgetting to call about a haircut. The whisker on my chin has run amok, and I hardly care. I find myself saying no to coffee dates or walks with friends. My inbox overwhelms me, and my list of must-be-done errands keeps shifting over to the next week.
Yes, an apparently manic gang of Muses has slapped a sticky pair of blinders on my face. As a result, I hardly see the domestic messes or the amoking chin whisker. I ignore my bursting inbox and attempt to explain to my very patient friends why I am saying “no.” That I hope they understand I must spend time with my characters. That I need to write. That when I can’t write, when I don’t write, I feel itchy and crabby.
It feels terrible to be this obsessed; it also feels fantastic. It’s a wonderful problem; it’s also a little worrisome. With my hefty case of chronic depression, I already feel like a protagonist in the DSM IV saga. Does this recent obsession mean I’m even more up a creek, mental health wise, than I previously thought? Maybe. I certainly blame my easily-obsessed, easily-addicted brain chemistry.
I also blame the Muses. They have donned their hard hats and, as they always sub out the heavy-lifting kind of work, they have hired word-loving architects, concrete layers, roofers. A heavily-tattooed gal with a backhoe. A saucy plumber who’s a whiz with the sewer snake. There are also a few caterers, thank goodness. Certainly a bartender or three. All of these ladies have invited their pals, and those pals have invited their pals, so really, it’s a grand ball of sorts, a summer-long rave pounding in my head. I suggested hiring a bouncer, but the Muses said, “Sorry. Everyone’s invited. Get out on that dance floor and dance, Cinderella!
So I do. I have no choice.
My fingers dance and dance across the keyboard, churning out a LOT of really bad stuff. But I don’t let myself care. I also don’t let myself care about the good stuff that appears, like bits of cubic zirconia, shimmering and hopeful in vats of sewage. I only care about the work. The buns-in-chair, produce-your-pants-off, dance-typing work driven by an invisible but powerful Something.
It feels scary and dangerous, this single-minded focus. Even overly-hopeful. Certainly crazy. But at some point it occurs to me that “scary” and “dangerous” are not necessarily unhealthy.
In her collection, Bloodchild and Other Stories, writer Octavia Butler shares a story called “Positive Obsession” in which she details her personal road to authorhood. Butler writes, “I saw positive obsession as a way of aiming yourself, your life, at your chosen target. Decide what you want. Aim high. Go for it . . . [Whatever was driving me to write], I couldn’t stop. Positive obsession is about not being able to stop just because you are afraid and full of doubts. Positive obsession is dangerous. It’s about not being able to stop at all.”
Yeah. I get that.
Socrates, too, had his ideas about obsession and creativity, saying, “If a man comes to the door of poetry untouched by the madness of the Muses, believing that technique alone will make him a good poet, he and his sane compositions never reach perfect, but are utterly eclipsed by the performances of the inspired madman.”
Ah, so it’s acceptable, even necessary, to experience the “madness of the Muses?”
When I shared the details (and my concerns) of my lopsided summer with my friend Robin, a therapist who’s pretty much my own personal Socrates, she shrugged. “There are obvious downsides to obsession,” she said. “But there are upsides, too. Being obsessed about your writing, maybe that’s the thing that allows you to start and finish a novel.”
Right, that’s probably true.
Still, obsession doesn’t feel sane. Obsession doesn’t feel like something A Good Girl should embrace. It feels pretty awful to ignore my friends, to be so distracted by characters who only exist in my head, to say “no” to social things so I can sit in front of my computer and build something that may or may not work.
But I can’t help it. Plus, my dear writing partners tell me to hold tight to the rope and allow myself be pulled through the choppy waves, bouncing along behind the ski boat driven by that gaggle of shrieking Muses.
My equally dear husband says, “I’ll take the kids so you can write.”
And I’m sane enough to know that while the Muses are throwing parties, I best get on my dancing shoes. A writer never really knows how long the music’s going to last.
If you have found yourself in an obsessive phase, what have been the greatest joys and challenges? How have you balanced your real life with the fictional worlds you are building? How have your friends and family responded? Does anyone know of a self-cleaning toilet? I welcome and appreciate all thoughts and suggestions.
Photo compliments of Flickr’s ohskylab.
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
Whenever I see your picture at the top of a new post, I say, ‘Goody, goody!’ I got lots of snickers and many head nods from this one. Good work.
So kind, Alex. Thank you! You are one of WU’s finest. :)
I wish I knew of a self-cleaning toilet. :O)
I say dance while the music’s on! I’ve never been swept away quite so completely, but I know that when I’m in a writing groove certain things get re-prioritized, and cleaning is one of the things that can wait. I also get those doubts of “Am I doing all right? Should I be doing more with my kids, my family?” In those times, I let my husband help me discern if I’ve gone too far. Usually, I haven’t. It’s just me worrying again.
Yes! It is essential to have those reality checkers, isn’t it? We are fortunate to have supportive spouses . . . too many creative types do not.
I think the hardest (i.e. the most guilt-making) aspect of being a writer is feeling like I often want to choose writing time over time with my kids. Maybe if my kids didn’t pee all of the toilet seat and ask for sandwiches all the time, I wouldn’t feel that way.
:)
I’ve always wondered about my muses. It seems like they are strangely quiet much of the time and then only speak when it is terribly inconvenient for them to do so. I tend to get my best ideas at night…just as I’m about to fall asleep… THANKS.
So true. And I really went back and forth about whether I should even call them Muses. They don’t really feel like Muses. They feel like dictators. Dictators with moments of Diva behavior. It’s that Diva element that makes me crazy. Clearly they work when THEY want to work . . . even if it’s while we’re trying to sleep.
Thanks, L.M.
(I love your photo, by the way. Makes me want to chop off all my hair again . . . also makes me feel like Julie Andrews has commented. I LOVE JA.)
Wonderful! Very stimulating post. I can get obsessed but not quite that far. I do love when the muses are working at high speed though … it can be exhilarating. And just this morning I’ve been toying with the idea of submitting a short story to a contest … thinking why bother since I really don’t want another disappointment, but Butler’s “decide what you want. Aim high” is urging me on to take that emotional risk and submit. Sometimes timing is what you need to keep the wheels turning. Thanks.
Brian Bernard King is telling you to take the risk and work that contest like a BOSS, Paula, LIKE A BOSS.
Yeah! Like a BOSS! Couldn’t have said it better myself, Brian.
Paula, the disappointment is real and it happens to everyone. Everyone!
I think my next post is going to be about disappointment and rejection and writerly challenge . . . how IF ONLY WE WRITERS COULD BE MORE HONEST ABOUT IT, we would realize how common it is. And then we’d all feel a lot less lonely and alone.
Submit your story!
Thank you, Brian and Sarah. Like a BOSS!
On Sunday, after my wife and I both worked a half-day, we decided that curdled milk and ketchup would not sustain us through the week, and headed for the market. On the way home, my wife wanted to stop at a friend’s house to drop something off. She pulled in, and he was working outside. He waved, unsurprised to see her car. Then I got out of the car. “Oh my God,” he exclaimed, and dropped what he was doing. He ran over, proffering his sunglasses. I was surprised by his reaction, but said I didn’t need the sunglasses, as it was cloudy. “Yes, but it’s so much brighter than that cave you’ve locked yourself away in,” he observed. “Do you need some sunscreen? You’re practically bioluminescent.”
After what seemed like an hour of mocking, he fetched the item we’d come for and said, “Back to the writing cave?” I assured him my rewrite was almost done. “It better be good,” he said (he’s one of my beta-readers). Oh, crap, I thought. He forced the realization on me. The long summer days of partying with my muses are almost over. I have to show this damn thing to the world again. Soon. Might as well clean the toilets, too.
I am obsessed with your posts, Sarah Callender!
Oh, how I love this comment. And I love that you have such a great Beta reader . . . I bet he offers just the right amounts of encouragement and arse-kicking. And humor. That’s so important.
Fantastic that your cave-time has been so fruitful. You rock, VR!
[…] The Madness of the Muses // Writer […]
I discovered last night that I have semi-self-cleaning CHILDREN. I sat on my (closed and unclean) toilet seat with my laptop while my kids splashed around in the tub till the water was gray. it’s like when that guy dropped his chocolate into the peanut butter, only better.
This made me laugh out loud, Aimee. Thank you! And I have been there . . . writing/reading on the bathroom floor while the self-cleaning kids do everything BUT self clean.
Loved the Reese’s reference.
:)
Itchy and crabby! That’s exactly how I feel when I can’t get to my computer. I’ve never had PMS (thank you, God) but I regularly have IAC! Thanks for putting it so well. ;o) And I’ll put my house up against yours any day. LOL
Yes! We could have a messy house-off. I have a little boy with bad aim; does that make me the favorite? :)
Oh my, how I love your posts, Sarah. Dance like there is no tomorrow…then clean your toilets, girl!
Just to note, I think that one of the things that make us true, die-hard writers, is the ability to keep our heads in the game when our muses have surrendered the dance. Sometimes, we’ve got to go it solo.
Denise Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth
I am SO glad you brought this up, Denise, because yes, that’s the true work of writing. It’s easy to write when there’s a Muse-bash in one’s head. When there’s only silence, staying with that tush planted is so, so difficult.
Thanks for the reminder (and the very kind words).
:)
Great post, glad to hear the muses have you under their influence!
So the thing about dirty toilets is that not too long after you clean them, they are dirty again. So to choose the toilet is to choose it endlessly. Then your life is about toilet-cleaning.
The thing about the muses is they are the greatest, most exclusive party-throwers. If you say no to their invite, you face not only missing that party, but being dropped from the list for future events. So maintaining relationships with the muses is at least as important as with real people (who are typically far more forgiving).
Dang, you smart and funny woman. Truer words were never uttered! Thanks for making me laugh and feel not-weird.
:)
Thank you for taking time out of your busy dancing to share this with us! I feel as though I am right there in your case with you…
You have managed to find your alone space in the midst of all that surrounds you, with the help of those around you and your own conscious choice to choose to create!
I honor you and look forward to more from your corner….
(…grow chin hair, grow!)
Thank you, Mica! What a great note . . . so nice to know there’s another dirty-bathroomed writer out there.
Happy writing! May those muses keep dancing.
Enjoy the obsession while it lasts – there’s no point in being a party-pooper!
Ha! My mom used to sing that song all the time (I think, when I was being grumpy) . . . brings back funny memories. Thank you for the encouragement. :)
That’s why it’s called DIVINE madness. I’m still trying to figure out how to break DIVINITY down into little chunks I can swallow at appropriate and convenient times, but so far it’s like taking a hit of LSD. Divinity it seems, has no use for social graces. Party on, Sarah!
Brilliant! Can you imagine if there were a Muse pill we could pop when we were feeling uninspired? Something legal, and ideally something that left no irritating residue or hangover or dry mouth issues.
If only . . .
Last Sunday’s NYTimes had just such a “what if” story. What if writers could pop performance-enhancing drugs like athletes?
I love it! Thanks, Nancy.
Sarah: Wonderful word pictures in your post. Capture that magic in your writing and you’ll find lots of fans. Writing is a marvelous disease to have, a continual roller coaster that adds dimensions to life those who don’t pick up a pen every day cannot imagine. Good on you for reminding us of how fortunate we are to be so afflicted!
What a great comment, Tony. Thank you! And yeah, it is a disease. My husband didn’t know I had such a bad case of it when we got married. I think he has a love/hate relationship with the writer in me (just as I do). It’s something that drives me crazy, yet if I could erase that part of me, I absolutely would not!
So happy that you’re a part of this WU community. You add so much!
Loved your post. Reminds me of the beginning of the movie “Romancing the Stone” whereby the writer, still in bathrobe after days of writing, ambling through her wreck of a house, crying because she’s so touched by the end of the book she’s just written. She’s run out of tissue and TP and is using Post Its to blow her nose. So typical of writers “in the groove.”
Hysterical! I had totally forgotten that part . . . thank you for the giggle and the reminder, Nancy.
It really is amazing how we can see ourselves as brilliant one moment and then just embarrassingly abysmal the next. Quite crazy-making, really.
You’re a hoot, Sarah! I wish there were more crazy, hooty writers like you.
My family will not allow me to have obsessions. Oh no, I apologize for my inaccurate statement. My obsession is insomonia, because that is the only way I can to get extra writing time.
I feel the same about you, Brian, as you are clearly a crazy hoot yourself. Thank you for the witty, wise comments you offer. Such a great addition to WU.
Happy night-writing!
While writing our novel, The Perfect 7, it was as if we couldn’t turn our MC’s voice off. He just kept pulling, telling us that we had to sit in front of our computers and write down what he had to say… and he had a lot to say. Once we were finished, we assumed that it would stop until we began the second installment. Unfortunately, he’s tenacious and whereas most authors would say that their MC whispers in their ears, ours forcefully and in a very belligerent voice demands we regale his story until the final installment is finished. I’m sure even then he’ll stay with us. It’s not as severe for our other MC’s, as we have two other series we’re writing, but they are just as prevalent, maybe not as obstinate. During those time that we realize other things are being neglected we force ourselves to put the computer down and… live. We do so rather begrudgingly. The only thing I don’t mind breaking for is my little brother, or when we get takeout. LOL. Great post, Sarah. We totally feel your pain.
Ooooo its Inion N. Mathair.
I loved your comment for its empathy . . . also for its pronouns. Did you write a novel with someone, or does “we” refer to “you and the Muses”?
Either way, I’m intrigued!
Luckily for me, my muse (who resembles Bella Abzug with a hangover) makes cleaning an integral part of her musification. Thus, when I’m stuck on a plot twist, I am the nittiest and the pickiest of nitpickers—I literally pace my house as a nit-seeking missile.
Somehow, cleaning is a ruminative thing for me, and doing it often prompts the opening of closed mental spaces around writing challenges. So you see, the toilet brush is really a pen. (Thank god I don’t actually mix them up.)
I’m with you on that! Add weeding the garden to that cleaning.
Hahahahaha! The toilet brush as a pen . . . my 14-year-old boy brain is coming up with all sorts of punny, immature one-liners. But I am NOT a 14-year-old boy! I am a 41.7 year old professional person who will not make poop jokes!
Thanks, Tom.
:)
At my house, open a closet door at your peril, ignore the basement, and the cupboard is bare. When I’m writing all else caves. My husband always wonders why women discuss house cleaning. Insert comments here.
Yes! I should have mentioned the cupboards. My husband’s traveling for work right now (so there’s even less reason to grocery shop) and yesterday my son had three pals over. They were STARRRRRVING after soccer practice, and one of the boys was allergic to everything, so I was like, Um, can I offer you some wrinkley grapes?
I need to stock up on Boy Food, at the very least.
:)
Sarah,
I always look forward to your posts. I wish I could get into the kind of zone you describe. I have too many outside distractions. As a result my writing time is somewhat limited. I have experienced that feeling of sitting down to write and looking up at some point to realize I’ve been at it for five or six hours and I’m getting hungry but I don’t want to stop. Good luck with your WIP.
Yeah, CG. That’s one of the things that been so weird about the summer . . . all the other distractions I normally have have been ignored and neglected. That’s why it’s such a terrible feeling . . . I don’t like neglecting all of my other distractions!
But like you, I don’t often feel this way so I have to carpe diem!
Happy writing to you. Thanks for the great note.
As long as it’s productive and fun (and fun can sometimes be a bit scary), then go for it! Only when it stops being fun or has some serious consequences should you be worried.
I can’t say I’ve ever been as focused as you described for more than an afternoon. I have to restart my writer engine with every writing session.
Connie, most days/weeks/months I do NOT feel like this. That’s why it’s so weird and terrible. It’s not my normal schtick to have such single-minded focus. It’s nice not to have to restart my engine each morning (the Muses keep it running all night) but it’s also turning me into a crackpot. I think my husband was happy to be able to leave town on a work trip. I think my kids wish they had a mom who wasn’t a loon. :)
I loved this post so much. Then could not remember where I had read it. I spent an hour searching through every page I had read. Then this morning up you pop.
I too love your posts. When the writing is running through your fingers faster than your brain can go that is a good day.
Thank you, Linda! You are right. There is no better feeling! I so appreciate your kind words. Happy writing to you!
“I have mostly stopped exercising so everything’s feeling rather low and swingy. I keep forgetting to call about a haircut.” Thanks to my novel, I am fatter and have to cut my own hair. Forget about pedicures — please don’t look at my feet. Its awful. Or is it? Day after day I look fondly out the window at everyone having a good time with LIFE. But me, I sit inside having a fabulous time with my make-believe reality, the one I am inventing on the page. Ha! Thanks for this post, I LOVE your writing… you are a hoot. Keep it up while the muses throw their wild party because they are a fair-weather bunch, as in they seem to come by when its a beautiful day so you can be stuck inside with them (they don’t go out to play, they fly away out there), then they will hurry off when its raining. Since that is a Muse pattern, you can do your household chores when it rains, can you not? I say keep hoping for dry weather if you want to write and rain if you want to clean. Its all I have to offer, as hope to you. Play with those muses, forget about the real world. You are a writer, remember?
I have been in obsessive mode, so I haven’t read this until today. This very morning, awake at 4:40 to start work before the day gets too real and bright, I was thinking I need to get to the gym, and I’m probably not going to because I can see the endin sight and I don’t want to. I only cleaned a bathroom yesterday because I couldn’t find my brush.
Thanks, Sarah, for such a great post!
I’m an all-or-nothing kind of girl, so obsession seems normal to me. Whatever I’m doing, it has to be 100% or i’m just not doing it well enough to bother, or to sink my teeth into it. Don’t ask me if it’s “healthy” I don’t want to know. I think obsession has to be part of a writer’s toolkit, because we couldn’t write if we couldn’t lose ourselves in the work. I too get “itchy and cranky” when life gets so noisy and complicated that I can’t ignore it to write. Never mind dirty toilets, I find needy people the most distracting (husbands, children, friends). I guess my mother programmed me well. But everyday I wish I were more bad. Really eccentrically, sociopathically, flamboyantly bad.
I love Bernadette’s comment “Divinity it seems, has no use for social graces.”
Thank you so much for your candor. I don’t think my family quite understands when obsession suddenly takes over, and all I can do is follow it. My therapist certainly doesn’t think it’s healthy. But I feel like it is part of what defines me, so I’m hesitant to let that go. And, I know following it means I am 95% more likely to finish the WIP! :)