Calling all the Muses

A girl popped into my head earlier this week. I remembered her face so well. Even details about what she went on to do after we finished our seasonal work as actors many winters ago were standing by, ready to be accessed in my brain. What was not there was the brunette’s damn name.

I even phoned a friend (via text) and asked for help, but no such luck. My friend didn’t even remember the girl at all. I searched Facebook. I said names aloud, hoping they would stick and make me exclaim, “Oh, yeah! Her name was Bianca!!” Nothing was working. It was not coming.

Finally, the name popped into my head. Such a normal name and nothing like some of the exotic ones that were dancing around. I felt such a sense of relief when her name arrived.

The experience made me think about creativity and how frustrating it can be when it just doesn’t seem to want to come. Writer’s block or lack of inspiration is every creative person’s annoyance. Even more annoying than being unable to remember a name.

I remembered an old journal entry from years ago after a night of wine, chat, and all of that with a dear friend. Here is the entry:


Liz and I had, yet, another fabulous night. We discussed the Muse and I went back, in my mind, to the cat I saw the other day on 8th St. with a dead rat in its mouth. Growing up, I remember outdoor cats bringing old dead things to my aunt’s doorstep and leaving them on the mat, as if to say, “Thanks for loving me. Keep doing it.” It was like the cat believed my aunt was going to take the dead thing inside and cook it up for supper. Super cute. If only we could bring a dead rat or similar offering to the doorstep of the Muse to ensure it would always open its door and bring the love. Creativity feels like a stream — unseen beginning and ending — until its flow takes a break. I want to be a vessel for creativity to flow through for the rest of my days and I know Liz and I would gladly slaughter any rat to be one. z




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