I’ve been stymied lately. Couldn’t get the good writing mojo going. I was stuck and uninspired, and every time I would try to sit down and write, it was simply awful. My goal has been to complete – at least first drafts – of all the pieces I have in mind for a collection of father stories. All personal stories, memoir, to be gathered into a book that tells the story of how a grandfather’s guilt carried its way through my father to me, and how I’m, as a father, trying to make up for a grandfather’s misguided decisions, how we all are living the sins of our fathers.
Finally, I’ve made progress.
In the last couple days, for whatever reason, the writing juices are flowing again. The words are forming, the sentences are connecting, the insight is emerging.
My question is this: Why does this happen? Why does the muse come and go? What dampens it; what sparks it? In Greek mythology, the muse means a “guiding spirit” or a “source of inspiration.” But isn’t this spirit, this inspiration, always there? Doesn’t it just have to be uncovered, revealed? So, what keeps it hidden?
I realize these are questions of a thousand poets, the dreams of artists everywhere. But still, that doesn’t mean I can’t ask the question – over and over and over again.