Why I Killed My Muse-- And You Should Too
Author: Deanna Mascle

Last night, in the dark following midnight I killed my muse
(suffocating her quietly with a pillow) and buried her in my
back garden. Today I will plant a roses to hide the grave. No
one will ever know and I will be free at last of her insidious
hold and I will be able to write what I want.

Why did I resort to this deed? After all my muse was lovely and
gave me many gifts over the years. She saw me through dark times
and helped mark the joyous ones. Many times she inspired me to
reach for more and push myself beyond what I thought I could
achieve. Knowing all this why would I kill the very source of
my inspiration?

Oh, I had my reasons...

It started out quietly. As I would sit at my keyboard or curl
up with a notebook, she would perch on my shoulder as was her
wont to do. "I don't think you meant to write that sentence,"
she would whisper in my ear. "That doesn't sound like the best
description," she would snipe. "Is that the best you can do?"
she would sneer.

I took to sneaking my writing in when I knew she was occupied
elsewhere. She never could resist critiquing the writing in the
morning paper if it was left spread on the kitchen table. That
way I could sometimes write several pages before she began her
commentary. "Surely you can find a better way to approach this
topic," her mocking voice would interrupt. "That has been so
done."

Soon I was spending more time arguing with her, defending my
words, than I was writing. Then my production slowed to a crawl
as I would overanalyze each word choice and sentence formation
before committing it to screen or paper. All that did was give
her more time to find fault with the few words I did write.

Despite urgent deadlines and simmering ideas, I started
avoiding the computer and all writing materials. I cleaned my
house. I read for hours on end. I made plans for a new garden.
The need the write built within me but always my muse was
watching me with those eyes -- so judgmental, so critical. I
would turn away from my office with a sigh and find some other
project.

When I could no longer suppress the urge to write I locked her
in a closet and had a wonderfully productive morning. I was so
happy with my work that I let her out as I went out the door to
run some errands. That just made her mean.

She was waiting for me at the door when I came home. Her
glasses had slid nearly to the tip of her nose and somehow
she'd found a red pencil (I certainly never brought any such
thing into the house). I shuddered at the sight of my happy
morning's labor marred by vicious slashes of red. The red
blurred before my eyes into a crimson haze and then...

Perhaps it is better that you don't know the details. Suffice
it to say that I have selected several old-fashioned roses with
luscious aroma and delicate coloring. I am sure they will
provide both inspiration and comfort.

Despite my late hours and the physical toil involved, this
morning I awoke early and have already logged in several hours
at the keyboard. My fingers flew across the keys and after
completing several long-stagnant projects I outlined notes for
some new. Writing is joyful and rewarding again.

I think I might dedicate this next book to the memory of my
muse. Perhaps it will serve as a warning to those other muses
out there who are on the verge of going over the edge. Perhaps
it will inspire those other writers out there who have let
their muse stifle their creativity and shove them right into
writer's block. Maybe my warning will mean those other muses
and their writers will find a way to work things out.


About The Author: Deanna Mascle has been teaching and writing
professionally for more than 20 years. Find more articles about
writing at http://Word-Craft.info