Who needs the muse?
No elves, fairies, or mythical creatures of any kind were harmed in the writing of this article. (British Library)
My process for writing articles is pretty straightforward.
I sit down to write and simply wait for an idea. Within a couple of minutes, an idea appears, and I write.
You could say that’s pretty woo-woo, but I find it to be incredibly practical. Why shouldn’t an idea simply be there when I’m looking for it?
Where else would it be, if it’s not already in my head?
The strange thing is that I don’t choose to do it more often. There have only been a few occasions on which I have written two articles in one day. Do I think that the well would run dry? How superstitious.
There’s a state of flow that I get into when I’m expecting to be able to write an article. After over a year of doing it every day, my brain and body are conditioned to sit there until the idea appears and keep writing until the thing is done.
This makes me wonder if such a practice is transferrable. Could I sit down and write a song every day? Could I write a poem? Could I write a letter to someone? Could I draw a cartoon? Could I write a few pages of a novel or short story?
Alternatively, could I push to the limits of my capacity? How many articles could I write in one day or one week?
I believe that, with practice, I could (and you could) carry out virtually any creative task on command. Why shouldn’t it be like any other skill?
When I was a kid, I started discovering the soul music of the 1960s. I was absolutely spellbound by Smokey Robinson & The Miracles’ “Tears of a Clown” (still am). And then, when I heard “I Second That Emotion” and “You’ve Really Got a Hold On Me,” and realized that they were written by the same guy, it got me thinking. How could one person write not one, but three incredible songs? (I hadn’t even heard “Shop Around” or “Ooo Baby Baby”).
Based on the evidence, I concluded that, though he is a phenomenal songwriter, Smokey didn’t necessarily have some magical, mysterious gift. Rather, he must have learned how to write songs well. It must be a skill that can be developed. Otherwise, how could anyone make a career out of it? You can’t sit around hoping for a little fairy to come visit you and sprinkle you with her dust. Smokey’s got bills to pay, just like anyone else.
As an eleven-year-old, I didn’t have the skills to write at Smokey’s level myself (still don’t). But that lesson has stuck with me. I do carry the confidence that, if I put the work into something, I can always get better at it. I’m not beholden to the capricious whims of the muse. My work is less romantic but more reliable. If I ask for it, it’s there.
If you find yourself stuck — a victim of the dreaded writer’s block — you might find that you can get unstuck by working on your beliefs about the process of creative work. You think that there isn’t a single available solution to your problem? You think your ideas have been somehow placed out of reach? Honestly, that’s the scenario that seems far fetched.
