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| The Muse |
The life of a writer is never easy. When I sit down to write, my Muse decides to go into hibernation. Even with a lot of cajoling, threats, tears I can’t make her come back. Sighing, at the wastage of few solitary hours, I reconcile to the fact that I am done for the day.
The story was going at a such a fine pace. The lovers had met, they were fighting off their physical attraction and just when I was planning to give them their big kiss,my muse ran away.
I have a target of writing at least a thousand word a day. But writing mere words is not enough. What about feelings, the emotions that weaves through the story? How do I recapture them? Mere words won’t solve my problem. I feel like a kindergarten kid learning her new words. I know the words, but why it is there, is a big mystery to me. So I decided to take a walk.
Gearing myself against a suprinsingly cold Texan weather, I start walking on the pavement of my neighborhood. All doors are shut, the silence is overwhelming but has a calming effect on my mind.
I peek in every nook and corner for her.( Did I mention by now I was ready to grovel at her feet? I have a deadline to meet and beggars cannot be choosers. Can they?) But as I had said earlier she had decided to make me pay for my sins (when she would poke me at 2:00 am, I would bury myself further in the blanket ).
And that is the precise moment I saw her…….
An old, wrinkled, rickety boned lady - gardening. Poor senile dear. What the hell what she was doing at 9:00 PM? Who does gardening at such an hour, let alone at her age. It must be her senility. But I am what the Dutch call Kieskeuring Annie – the English Nosey Parker. So, I went up to her and with my most complacent smile asked her-
“Isn’t it too late for gardening at such an hour, ma’am?”
A gentle smile on the wrinkled face. “If I don’t do it now dear, it would be too late.”
“Too late?” I look over my shoulder. Had not thought of this angle. Haunts? I gulped and decided to take a short cut home.
“Yes. Do you see these roses? The morning frost is damaging them. I am just putting more plant food for them. They need their strength to fight this uncalled winter in Texas.”
The old lady really loved her garden. I understood that but still…..
“But why did you not do it in the morning. It was sunny today wasn’t it?”
“But I was in the hospital having an ECG done. When I came home I saw my plants looking lost and withering. So, I decided to do it now.”
“But…..?” How could I tell her that she needs to go the the looney bin for doing this at night. She understood. The way only the old can understand unspoken words.
She gave me the gentlest of all smiles. “If I waited the story of my rose would have died by tomorrow. How could I take the chance? I had the strength within me to do it tonight. Who knows what will happen to me tomorrow.”
Stunned, I made a hasty goodbye. My steps quickened. No more was I searching for my Muse. Perspiring, I ran back to my house and went to my study. I opened my laptop and continued my story........
How could I be so foolish? The Muse was within me. My search for inspiration was just an excuse – a fear that what I was writing was not good enough. But the lady taught me one thing – if you love something, no matter what the time of the day is, no matter what others think of you, if you believe in it, then just do it.
Picture courtsey: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9TqeG-odZGR6LBNu6eDoW_RT60Y6A21LlXupVH4dcTe0PGelmVlJ29-_CBPOCK_J6PVmEZPU3GWQ2rK0rnIlUIFVJ1eikRThRQR8Eae-vcu8mYYCyOe44EaxFE6sUT6oxgA_DQ3JJ4l8/s1600/Angel-sm.jpg
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