Waiting for the muse? Work for it.

Waiting for the Muse? Work for it.

By ELENA JOHNSON

Coeur Voice Contributor

“Turn off the sound now!” I lovingly shout to my partner as I rush out of the room to write a column.

Don’t worry, this isn’t another listicle of “10 strategies to cope with remote work” or “8 ways to keep the spark alive when you’re quarantined and sick of hearing each other’s video games.”

This is about the search for the Muse.

Anyway, the Muse had struck. Whatever magnum opus was brewing in my fevered, wordsmithing brain was begging release.

Chocolate-covered fingers flew across the keyboard. I could feel myself grasping the figurative hem of Calliope’s robe.

I was…writing a bunch of crap, honestly.

There was no Muse singing greatly to me. Despite the pains I’ve taken to cultivate the Muse – or spirit or “zone” or whatever IT is – the only masterpieces these hands have brought into this world are homemade mochas.

Which, admittedly, are pretty good.

Meanwhile my partner just produced a magnificent loaf of banana bread on his first try.

The truth is, which I ought to know by now, all creative acts take a lot of measured study and practice. And apparently it takes kicking your beloved out of your writing room whenever you’re in “the zone.” (Sorry, hun).

It took years of being a barista to be able to fashion a beautiful brew at home with practically no effort. And that banana bread had several delicious antecedents.

The time we take between those creative acts to sample our partners’ successes in the kitchen, perfect the art of the kitchen counter espresso, or stress-knit slippers while procrastinating, is probably helping in its own way.

So take a break and then work at it anyway.

Just as writer’s block gave way to the perfect at-home mocha recipe, today’s afternoon tea was just enough distraction to (almost) come face to face with a muse.

Perhaps more importantly, it gave me the final kick in the pants – pajama pants, naturally – I needed to sit my butt down and WORK on my writing.

The next great epic did not appear on the screen of my refurbished old dinosaur of a laptop.

But something did.

Anyway, I had no business courting the muse of the epic as a lowly newspaper writer. Calliope probably went off to nurture the next Toni Morrison or Cormac McCarthy.

Although I wonder if Thalia, the Greek muse of comedy, divinely struck me with embarrassment out of pity (or boredom).

So don’t be afraid to follow inspiration when it strikes. Whether you’re penning the next great American novel, feng shui-ing the house, or fixing the garden, you’ll probably end up with a fantastic loaf of banana bread instead.

Who knows, maybe it will taste so good you’ll suddenly get inspired again.

Who needs a muse, anyway?