Inspiration and Perspiration

Oh, Inspiration — you slippery, sneaky, frustrating buggah. Some call it the Muse, some call it a Pain in the Ass.

Notice, sometimes Inspiration will hit you when you least expect it — usually in the shower with nary a pen nor pencil in sight. At this point, I’ll scribble what I can on the walls of the bathroom in soap. How does that work out, you ask?

About how you’d expect.

The other place Inspiration likes to pounce upon me is in that sweet spot just before sleep overtakes my weary spirit — you know, when the eyes feel like each and every eyelash is weighted down with fishing sinkers? Yeah, like that. When moving your arm to pick up a pen is like moving through molasses, and if you do manage to scribble something down, the next morning it makes no sense whatsoever, seeing as it looks like it’s been written in a hybrid of Chinese and Arabic.

Oh, Inspiration. How you task me.

Once in a while, Inspiration with sneak into an earworm that will not quit. That’s the story behind The Dead Line — it wasn’t the entire song, actually, just one part that kept hammering at my brain until the subdural hematoma was taking over my consciousness:

Watching sugar sell for money to the dead at night
And he sees in her an angel in the cruelest of worlds
Hiding in the darkness

For some reason, that caught me and if I’m to be truthful here, it still haunts me. I don’t believe that story is over, yet.

****

Music, people-watching, bathroom activities — all this and much more can light the fire under Inspiration and encourage you to get a move on. But, what do you do when Inspiration is sorely lacking and you don’t know what to do? Because it’s just like Inspiration to desert you in your darkest hour or in the middle of your most exciting chapter, leaving you high and dry and gasping for oxygen. What do you do now? Now that you’ve been dumped unceremoniously without even a proper good-bye?

You flip Inspiration the bird and pick up the shovel. That’s right. No whiny, wussy excuses that you can’t write because you’re stuck. Pick up the thrice damned pen, or start tapping on the keyboard, and get through it. Power down, cowboys and cowgirls. Bite the bullet, put on your Big Girl Panties, and DO IT.

You see, finishing a work (or even starting one!) is 1% Inspiration and 99% PERSPIRATION, as Edison so famously stated. If you wait around for Inspiration, it’s gonna be a long and lonely wait. That bitch has other agendas.

It’s not magic, people. It’s damned hard work, and sometimes you get nothing in return except for the satisfaction of putting your words to paper, even if it’s only for you. Other times, you might get lucky and it appeals to other people. That part is a crap shoot.

But getting your story out on paper in the first place? That’s all you, pardner. ALL YOU. It’s not the Muse, it’s not Inspiration — it’s your own hard work. Take credit, take responsibility — and for the love of Heaven, take a pen in the bathroom with you.