A room with a view

With my office feng shui still in process, I have temporarily relocated to our third floor. (I’m managing quite nicely on a small desk with a couple file bins and reference books — why did I need a better office again?) I love it up here because it’s bright (from 2 skylights and an opaque arched stained glass window) and warm (so far, anyway). I hate it up here because it’s a cluttered mess, complete with cast-off furniture, unpacked boxes from our move 5 years ago, and 4 bulky unfinished cubby doors waiting to be installed. Oh, and occasionally a mousetrap or two in the eeves that need to be…emptied.

It does have a charming, though amusing, view out the one small window:

Who put that pole there? And does anyone know a good pole climber? I’d love to tack a pretty little decorative doodad or an inspirational message smack in the middle of it.

What no wife of a writer can ever understand is that
a writer is working when he’s staring out of the window.
~ Burton Rascoe

 

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Morning, Muse

Aahhh sleep. Escape hatch from the world. Bestower of fresh perspectives. Solver of riddles too elusive, too complex for open eyes and active brains.

My sleep reveals nothing so dramatic as Einstein’s (theory of relativity) or Watson’s (double-helix DNA structure) or my brother’s (legendary in the family for his vivid nocturnal adventures). I only get the odd encounter with David Duchovny to solve an X-File or countless puzzling wranglings with malfunctioning elevators and unclimbable stairs.

But that first, early morning awakening is a revelation. That drowsy slumber, though often rudely evoked by pestilence in feline form that is only briefly daunted by curses and swats, is where my muse likes to visit, whispering ideas, reminding me of what the day ahead might bring, helping me put life in perspective. Most of my post inspirations come from the morning muse, so I try to entice her to stay as long as possible. That requires walking a fine line between not getting too engaged by the mundane — that article I need to write or that call I need to prep for or those walls that still need painting — and staying cognizant enough to hear what she’s telling me. Often I forget what she whispers. Trying to scribble it down only means losing her for that day, which I am loathe to do.

Fortunately, she’s patient, sometimes murmuring the same message over and over each day until I finally absorb it. But she’s also fussy. She hides from alarm clocks, yet disdains late, sleep-sated risers. It must be early morning. It must be naturally (or cat-devil-) induced half-slumber. It must be dark or with only the faintest hint of dawn. Cold air is better than warm. Silence is golden.

I love her so much, I’m willing to accept her terms, grateful for whatever advice she has to give, whatever creative energy she’s willing to spark, whatever realization she bestows of how truly blessed I am.

What are your muse’s terms? Does she come when you’re running, driving, lost in knitting or raking or chores? Is she so demanding? Do you have ways to encourage her to come more often? I’m always calling my muse, but she doesn’t tend to answer when I ask, only when I’m least able to resist and most open to accept what she has to say.

Hmmmm, that last bit sounds familiar. Kind of like another spirit force I can think of whose name I often call but who prefers to answer in His own sweet time. Are they one and the same?

This post sure took an unexpected turn…I better sleep on this one.

And if tonight my soul may find her peace
in sleep, and sink in good oblivion,
and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower
then I have been dipped again in God, and new-created.
                                                          ~ D. H. Lawrence