What do you do with a cranky muse?

When does your writing muse demand a break? What sorts of diversions does she expect before she’ll calmly sit at the keyboard again?

Mine always seems to throw a fit after I finish edits on a manuscript. Once it’s submitted, she balks and doesn’t want to be near the computer. I guess I should consider myself lucky, since during the writing process, no matter how long, she’s compliant. I’ve heard some muses are cranky and must be bribed with chocolate cake. Mine just expects a treat after working hard. Seems fair enough.

After a new book submission, last week was her week to get away and see the real world. We did some spectacular things I’d wanted to do for at least a decade. 

Jai Uttal

One night I attended a kirtan led by Jai Uttal and his percussionists. What’s a kirtan? It’s a traditional Indian spiritual group singing event, a sort of sing-a-long using names of Hindu gods and goddesses as well as other words of prayer. I’ve been a fan of his for about a decade and it was a rare treat for him to play here in Tampa. The event was held at the yoga studio The Lotus Pond, inside its lovely log cabin nestled within the woods. The room was warm and inviting with wool carpets on the floor and tapestries on the walls. Jai led us through three kirtan songs lasting nearly two and a half hours. The energy of lifting our voices together singing those devotional names and words was moving, inspiring, and relaxing. I'm including some pictures I took at the kirtan.

Later the same week, I had the wonderful opportunity to attend a master yoga class led by the world-famous instructor Shiva Rea. Sponsored by Yogani Studios of Tampa, it was held in the old Cuban Club of Ybor City. I went with a small group of awesome yoginis from my local yoga studio.

Shiva Rea

The theme of the evening was mandalas, circular Hindu and Buddhist art. In the ornate, old ballroom, our yoga mats were arranged in concentric circles around a center informal altar with statues of Hindu gods, candles, flowers, incense. Over 150 students practiced with her for more than two hours. The vinyasas (series of poses) flowed in circular patterns, again following the mandala theme. She was accompanied by a wonderful percussion band that kept us moving. My body embraced greater ranges of movement, and my senses drank in the aesthetic beauty—together it formed a holistic experience which was truly uplifting. 

Natural lighting was utilized to add to the ambiance through the sunset hour, so photography was limited, but here are some pictures from the early hour of the event.

Julie, Angela, Marianne, me

It’s a very cool thing my muse refuses to write a few weeks during the year, so I get to do such neat things. 

When does your writing muse demand a break? What sorts of diversions does she expect before she’ll calmly sit at the keyboard again? Muses are all different. Let me know about yours.

A living fairy tale for my muse

Most muses expect to be fed occasionally. Some whimper for chocolate, others demand shopping sprees. Mine usually is satisfied with a pot of special blend white tea, kept steaming on a warmer for the evening of writing. But, once in a while she begs for an outing to someplace exotic. Lush settings captivate her. While taking lit classes in college, she prodded me to read every 19th c. novel she could find. That included the entire collection of Thomas Hardy, whose settings of mist-shrouded moors covered with purple heather in Wessex are every bit as memorable as his romantic characters, Tess and Angel, Bathsheba and Gabriel. She balks at workshops on world-building, maintaining a keen eye and an overactive imagination serve better. Nothing pleases her more than an afternoon at the beach. Once my toes are wiggling in sand beyond the towel's edge, she skips my pencil across pages at lightning pace.

Last Saturday I took my muse on a new adventure to the local Renaissance festival. I hoped she'd like it, since unnaturally cool Florida winter weather precluded beach days. And she did.

A curious array of earthy scents greeted us: fresh-milled wood chips underfoot; vendors newly-tanned leather vestments and boots; toasting cinnamon-dusted nuts; spirals of sandalwood incense. Visual delights also intrigued her. The grounds lay amid a grove of gnarly trees draped with Spanish moss. Their swags swayed with magic around tents belonging to tarot readers. Street performers and festival goers alike dressed in costumes, a variety of old world fantasy mixed with buccaneer accoutrements. Diaphanous layers of ladies skirts flowed like dreams. Coins adorned hats, headdresses, belts, wristlets, and necklaces – catching dappled sunlight and jingling with each step. I expected something of a pirate theme, following from the popularity of the Gasparilla festival, a pageant given by Ye Mystic Krewe in honor of their captain, Jose Gaspar. The result – a surreal tapestry.

Enchantment and swashbuckling in every direction. A human chess game and giant sand castle thrilled imaginations of young and old. Druids lay half hidden, clinging to tree trunks. A pickle vendor alerted me to fairies climbing in branches above, planning mischief. Celebrators extended cordial welcomes to all. The eclectic merriment painted an unwritten scene from Alice in Wonderland. My muse drank in the splendor of that living fairy tale.

In the days since, I felt her scrambling for characters to add to the new world. When finished, she hands me a complete setting and characters, detailed with personalities and attire. If she enjoys the characters enough she will lend a hand with plot. Then, my muse rests and sips tea until impatient with my plodding for months over what she created in days. I'm always behind, thankfully. She plays hard and works hard, never leaving me with writer's block. But the best gift is seeing the world through her eyes. A writer's blessing.