Missing My Muse

It's been quite a long time since I've watched a sunset. I miss that.

Currently, I work the midnight shift so I'm usually wandering through the realm of my dreams, searching for the muse of my soul to discuss with her my next great idea. Wouldn't you know it, that lately she's been off frolicking with the nine daughters of Zeus when I need her most?! Women!

So here I am, waking up after (take your pick on the name): Atum, of the Egyptians; Helios, of the Greeks; Garuda, of the Hindus; Sunna, of the Norse; Utu, of the Mesopotamians; the sun has serenely drifted beyond the western horizon and allowed the heavens to give way to the beauty of night. I have to get ready for work and while I love gazing at the twinkling of stars, wondering what else lies beyond the borders of our galaxy (or within for that matter) I'm saddened by the thought that yet again, I missed the opportunity to watch the sun silently kiss the day goodbye. After all, you can't have a good night without a kiss, right?

Now, imagine if you will, my frustration as I continue to work on revising and editing my manuscript. Painstakingly combing through each page then stopping and re-reading books on revision and self-editing to make sure I'm doing everything that needs to be done, correctly. Then taking a break from that when words from my well of creative consciousness trickle through my thoughts and bleed through my fingers onto the keyboard. Here's where my multiple personalities emerge (note: I have not actually been clinically diagnosed as such, but I'm sure fellow creative minds will understand what I'm saying).

The perfectionist reads what I type and criticizes every thing! The insidiously insecure individual in me stares at what spilled out of me and lacking in complete confidence wonders if what I've written is even "good enough" to be taken seriously. I begin to worry that my idea is beyond redemption, that my characters aren't engaging enough, that my prose isn't poetic enough and that my plot is a flavorless pretzel!

Here, my muse is where I long for you.

Those who know me will tell you that my confidence borders on arrogance but that has hardly been the case in recent days. I feel like Rocky after he took that beating at the brutal hands of Clubber Lang, "I pity the fool! Grrr...!" in Rocky 3. Shaken to the core and unable to focus on what needs to be done.

I've refrained from further submissions over the past two weeks because I believe it's better to step back, breathe and regain composure to make sure you're doing things correctly than to distractedly send out queries that haven't been polished to perfection (or as close to it as possible).

The same has gone for any writing beyond the first few sentences of my next novel.

I'd love to travel the world and walk on the ancient sites of which I write about in order to have my senses caressed by the scent of legendary regions. I'd journey to Mount Olympus, the heavenly abode of the Greek gods, dwell with the spirits of the past and be revitalized after a conversation with Homer while the sun sets in the west.

Horace once said, "The Muse gave the Greeks genius and the art of well-turned phrase."

Perhaps Apollo may plea with Zeus on my behalf and convinces Kalliope, the highest ranking of his nine Muses, to return my muse to me. Surely, I have not offended them in any way because I dread being cursed to suffer the fate of Thamyris; because my soul has memories that I need to find, my heart has stories that I need to tell. My muse and I have much to discuss.

"The lie, as a virtue, a principle, is eternal; the lie, as a recreation, a solace, a refuge in time of need, the fourth Grace, the tenth Muse, man's best and surest friend is immortal!" ~Mark Twain