http://storytellersunplugged.com/thomassullivan/2009/11/15/thomas-sullivan-%e2%80%9che-stopped-loving-her-today%e2%80%a6%e2%80%9d-or-murdering-your-muse/ 
Love that George Jones song. If you have an ounce of passion in you for anything, a single unblemished ideal, or if you feel a poignant stab in the heart for any kind of perfection, then you understand what’s behind that song.
Writers get it. Real writers. Lovers of the Muse. When you want something so badly that it makes your teeth ache and you swallow sand and you know that whatever the obstacles, it’s just right for you – not for someone else maybe, but absolutely for you — and life just won’t move forward unless you are in pursuit of that holy grail, well…that’s when you come alive. And only then. Passion sweats blood.
Only sometimes you bleed out. Bleed white. Your veins constrict, your heart turns into a dried husk, and your mind goes cold. That’s when you THINK you stop loving the Muse. Because passion that intense is draining, and rejection takes its toll. Your commitment may be true, but even a faithful dog backs off when it’s kicked in the teeth enough times. So your fingers slip off the keys; you quit caring. Hope becomes a dull ache, and you walk around in a novocaine stupor. You listen to loud music, you laugh at things that aren’t funny, you get hyper interested in feng shui or the kids next baseball game. The people around you who have patiently endured your impossible dream seem almost relieved. You are back. You are acting the way they act. Life is suddenly clear and simple and balanced.
And predictable.
But then you get a glimpse of color flitting past the window one day or hear a whisper in the leaves alongside an autumn path, and it’s like remembering where you placed your car keys. You vividly recall where you were going! It hits you full passion with a touch of dismay. Because you realize that you are wasting your life, wasting precious time. Like the white rabbit, you are so late! You can’t believe you let yourself become a zombie, that you lost faith with what you started out to be. The stars and the galaxies are still there; you just quit reaching for them.
But giving up on your dream is like letting the best part of you commit suicide. Because that’s where the real you lives. Your dream is where you are honest with yourself. If it dies, what’s left except to live a lie? And, yes, you can live a lie where appearances demand it, but you can’t do it 24/7. You need somewhere, sometime to live your dream, to know that it could really happen, to feel that you are worthy of it. Living a lie might meet the world’s expectations for you on the surface — it might even be noble, depending on your situation — but by definition it cannot be honest.
So you re-visit your dream. Secretly at first. Maybe life interferes with that a little bit. But you find a way, even if at the start it’s only in your mind, your heart. You imagine, plan, fantasize. And then you dare to reach out on a computer screen or a piece of paper. And the words come back. Because that’s who you are. Words and thoughts. That’s all anyone is, only with some people — writers – communication is infinitely more acute. You need words both coming and going. Like breaths. Inhale, exhale. Words are oxygen. You are a willing slave to the Muse. Forever in love.
But you only recognize that when you think you’ve stopped loving your dream. Because your passion is so great that it just exhausts your spirit and you have to take a timeout to let the ground springs refill the reservoir. To let the hurt of rejection subside. And you’ll probably repeat the whole thing again. Until you succeed. Or don’t succeed. It really doesn’t matter which, as far as what you have to do. Life is not a dress rehearsal. One take…action! Or else you go sit with the audience.
“He stopped loving her today… they hung a wreath upon his door.”
Yeah. That’s the only way to murder a Muse, if you’re for real. The only way to kill a true writer. And it says everything I’ve ever tried to say about the journey itself being the destination.
Thanks for reading along with these columns. I get a lot of e-mail from people who gave up on their dreams but think their dreams gave up on them. And speaking of e-mail, I’ve heard from a number of Glenn & Deacon Frey fans that my link to the September column is broken on some of the newsletter mirror sites. I think that column is being confused with earlier mentions of Glenn and Deacon from 14 months or so ago. Here’s the correct link to the most recent column: http://storytellersunplugged.com/thomassullivan/2009/09/16/thomas-sullivan-are-you-ready-for-fame-fortune-%e2%80%94-crosslake-redux-with-glenn-deacon-frey/
Oh, and another thing. If it says Comments closed at the end of this column, IGNORE that. Wordpress has a glitch or two and that’s one of them. Your comments are MOST welcome, and the way to leave them is just to click the title of this column, which will take you to a new page of the column so fast you may not realize it changed. At the bottom of that column is the posting box for your comments. If you got here from my newsletter link, you may already see that.
May I invite you to follow me on Twitter? It’s fun and won’t intrude on your computer. 2 examples of recent Tweets: Nothing is easier to take for granted or quickly forgotten than constant magic…until you suddenly realize it isn’t there. And… Why is everyone telling me I should write a romance novel? Am I wearing chick-socks or something? Hey, I can explain. That was Halloween. Here’s the link: http://twitter.com/thomassullivan . I’ll also be happy to put you on the mailing list for free newsletters packed with stories and adventures, including photos, if you email me at: mn333mn@earthlink.net . Past newsletters are archived at the author’s website below under News & Articles. Your thoughts are welcome, your attention valued.
Thomas “Sully” Sullivan
http://www.thomassullivanauthor.com/
http://twitter.com/thomassullivan |