For a long time I believed that I could only write if I had a muse – somebody who inspired me to write.
And for four long years I did no creative writing because I had no muse. Or more accurately I had one but was afraid of using her because I feared that the writing inspired by that muse would be pitch black.
Then in November, I found another muse. Well, it found me. With this muse, I found I was able to write lighter pieces again – poems and stories filled with love, innocence and nostalgia. A few months later I started this blog – which is also the very first time I’ve made my writing public. Previously most of my writing just ended up in the trash because I lacked faith in myself. To some extent I still do. If the forbidden muse was black then it followed that the colour of the new muse was white.
Shortly after drawing inspiration from muse white, a good friend of mine convinced me that drawing from the forbidden muse – the black muse – wouldn’t be so bad after all now that I had the white to balance it out.
For a while it was clear cut – a simple case of black and white. Anything positive and nice came from white. Anything negative and sad came from the black. As for me, I was just their vessel which they kept in flight with the wings they’d generously bestowed upon me.
The poem Flow marked a turning point for me in this line of thinking. Very appropriately considering the subject matter (if you haven’t read it yet, please do), it muddied the waters. Because this was a poem inspired by white which was full of doubt.
Flow marked my next transition. Rather than being a creature supported with one black wing and one white, I was now dealing with greys. From the white muse came The Cure which questioned whether the hope I’d been clinging to with white was really a false hope (but if so, clinging to a false hope still seemed better than no hope at all with no other option seemingly available at the time). Whilst Half the World at face value may just seem to be a simple “I miss you” poem, there was also an element of coming to terms with not being with the white and in some lines even waving goodbye. White also inspired Siren, where the formerly pure muse was transformed into a demonic entity which spelled my doom at the end of an epic journey. It then gave me Amber, which suggested that nostalgia had just been making white seem purer than it really was all along.
So there I was, living in a confusing world of greys. Then something happened that I hadn’t expected or planned for. Someone who I’d been in contact with inspired me to write poems for them which seemed to be formed from nothing but friendship. This marked my third transition. And to her I credited The Tunnel (which hasn’t been added here yet), The Tree and Lean On.
“But wait!” I hear nobody in particular cry. “What were you transitioning into? Are you now a vessel supported by three wings? Do you have two wings and a glowing pink horn? Will you be flying South for the winter?”
Well…no. Because this person then whether they meant to or not opened my eyes and challenged my way of thinking. They made me believe perhaps for the first time ever that I didn’t need a muse and that (surprising to nobody but me) all the poetry and stories had just come from me after all. They also gave me a bit more faith in my ability as a writer and encouraged me to dream big in terms of what I want to do with my writing and to stop deleting pieces just because nobody had come along to my site and clicked “Like” next to them on the same day I’d published them.
Once my eyes had been opened like this, it made me notice the anomalies from my previous black and white way of thinking. Cyrano and Other Side both dealt with love and love is positive, so they must have come from white, right? Afraid not. They were both inspired by one of my all time favourite films Cyrano de Bergerac (a film I loved partly as I identified with the protagonist because he was a deformed romantic poet who viewed himself as hideous and unworthy and for a long time I viewed myself that way).
Snow Wight is scary and scary is bad, so that one must have been inspired by the black, right? No, not really. That one came from my love of classic ghost stories.
And Other Mothers Know Best was…okay, that one wasn’t clearly creditable to either white or black, was it? That poem was written as my way of venting my frustation about something a mother had said one day in relation to how I was looking after my daughter. So it wasn’t jet black and from the bowels of Hell – it was just written out of annoyance. Although I do hear that there’s a special circle of Hell reserved for people who experience mild annoyance. 😉
So here it is – my fourth and possibly final transition. Although I can’t be sure, I think this time I may just be turning into a regular human. I’m still insecure about my writing but it is MY writing and I enjoy doing it. Despite my insecurities I’m also going to dream big.
Even though I have a degree in Imaginative Writing, I’ve never been published because I’ve lacked confidence in my writing and I’ve been too scared of rejection to send anything to publishers. Well, once I’ve reached 100 Followers on this site that’s going to change. Either by self-publishing or by finally reaching out to publishers, a book of my poems is going to be published. I also want to donate £1 from every book sold to charity.
So, did anybody read this bit? If so, thank you for putting up with my rambling and joining me on this journey into the unknown. Contrary to what someone recently told me, the unknown does currently seem preferable to either clinging to black or white.
Thank you also to everbody who has already Liked any of my poems or Followed my site. It means so much to me that total strangers would read and like my poems and stories.