The Muse
I don't know how many other writers are like this, but in order for me to create something, I need to have 2 things: a song that I listen to over and over and over, as the pictures unfold in my head and the story gets told to me so that I can then write it down; and a person to tell the story to. The muse, in other words. Where will the muse pop up, you know? In whose face this time? Who am I going to fall in love with? Once those questions get answered, the story unfolds. Usually like water gushing through a dam.
It's all a process; the creative process.
The song for my current short story, "August on the Lake", is Sting's Fields of Gold. I listen to it over & over & over and the pictures come (this is a very strange YouTube video of the song along with the lyrics of the song). It's a very romantic/bittersweet story I'm writing, obviously, and erotic. And short. And the man I am falling in love with while I write this story is a very well-behaved muse. You know, sometimes you just hit paydirt and a person's face, just like -- k-ching! -- a world of pictures just bursts open and the whole story is laid out for you. It couldn't be simpler. He is one of those people.
Of course he doesn't know I am falling in love with him and I am not likely to ever tell him since I am willing to bet all the money I have in the world (don't get excited, gang, it doesn't amount to much), anyway, I'm willing to bet he's married. He doesn't live around here so the only way I could ever find out is to just ask him and, well, since I really don't want to know... On we go, right? I'm just grateful for the Muse and whatever guise he chooses to arrive in. I don't need to make it permanent.
It's all a process; the creative process.
The song for my current short story, "August on the Lake", is Sting's Fields of Gold. I listen to it over & over & over and the pictures come (this is a very strange YouTube video of the song along with the lyrics of the song). It's a very romantic/bittersweet story I'm writing, obviously, and erotic. And short. And the man I am falling in love with while I write this story is a very well-behaved muse. You know, sometimes you just hit paydirt and a person's face, just like -- k-ching! -- a world of pictures just bursts open and the whole story is laid out for you. It couldn't be simpler. He is one of those people.
Of course he doesn't know I am falling in love with him and I am not likely to ever tell him since I am willing to bet all the money I have in the world (don't get excited, gang, it doesn't amount to much), anyway, I'm willing to bet he's married. He doesn't live around here so the only way I could ever find out is to just ask him and, well, since I really don't want to know... On we go, right? I'm just grateful for the Muse and whatever guise he chooses to arrive in. I don't need to make it permanent.



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