Muses do come back

I write this as I should be writing a final report reflecting on the masterclasses I had this semester. But this is how it always works, or, at least, how it used to: procrastination comes, very efficiently, and pushes me towards another type of writing – this one -: and so, the idea starts developing in my mind. How can I describe this? It is a sort of rush, an explosion of the will, a few words – thoughts? – forming in my head, and a massive urge to write it down. Then, as I start writing down those initial phrases, more come rushing through, hastily, whilst I try to make sense of them, develop them into coherence, perhaps, depth. I feel the beginning, but nothing more. The rest, it happens here – in this right moment. Only if I pay attention to it.

For many years, I followed this feeling, and I would write daily, several times a day, wherever I could: napkin, phone, blog. I then went into, well, corporate, and whilst I did enjoy most of it, it did cripple this – no more ideas assaulting me at any point of the day. But, that too, was a process: ideas don’t just stop coming. They come, as usual. They need sustaining, though. They need follow up. They need paper, pen, keyboard, screen. They need writing down. At first, they keep coming, but I no longer know how to find the time to follow the surge. I say I’ll write it later. But that’s not how it works. How it works is that at 4 am you are coming back home from a party, an idea comes to mind and you have to write it then and there. Next day, the whole thing will be forgotten, if nothing more, a mere remembrance of a longer dream you will never bring back to memory. And, suddenly, one day, no more ideas come to mind. Your mind is thinking about different things now – whichever they might be – but not writing. The inspiration is ‘lost’.

And one recalibrates everything: what’s left of my writing if my inspiration is lost? Dare I call myself a writer if I do not write?

But the muses do come back, eventually, especially as one starts to read again with appetite and hunger, devouring old favourites and tasting new ones. But there’s no other door for the muses than this one: they decide when to come rushing in, no matter what you are meant to be doing, what your articulated planning for the day has scheduled in advance for you to comply with your responsibilities. No, that type of creation does not come at a schedule. At least, I have not been able to tame it that way so far. I am not sure it is the type of thing you can tame. I am not sure I want to tame it. I want it to come and take over. I want to come and claim its place: you are a writer, write, damn it. Write, no matter what. Because that’s what I do. And that’s what I love doing. I can write the report for the masterclasses now.