I can't take the time to write about what I really want to say tonight, it will have to wait for when I have more time and less tears. I will say this much: a dear man's funeral was today and I am sad. I am sad for his dear wife and his children but also sad for Lynne, who won't be able to benefit from his love...the love he shared equally with all. But to me, and others too, it was genuine and meaningful and cherished. My heart is broken.
So, instead I will share something Jane Yolen said on her web site--and no, I didn't get permission so don't rat on me:
"The Muse is an ornery creature and rarely comes when called. She wears feathers in her hair and birkenstocks on her feet and is often out in the woods when you are home at your keyboard.
"But sometimes when you are writing, and are so concentrated on what you are doing that you pay her little heed, she comes into the room, looks over your shoulder, and breathes softly in your ear. It is a tickle, like baby's breath, and could be mistaken for a shift in the internal wind in the room.
"And you won't know she's been there, not until minutes or days or weeks or months or years later. You will think that what you put down was ordinary but it turns out to be extraordinary. And that's when you understand the Muse had visited you.
"Trust me. Some things I do know." Jane Yolen
Now, I don't know if The Muse has ever visited me but I'm hoping she might, even though I live in Utah which is classified as a desert and not in the woods of Scotland, which is green and lush and has places named Faerie Glen, has castles, lochs and even mountains that are good at absorbing demons.
If you have any influence with the muse, tell her something like this, "Lynne, who lives in Utah--with no glens, castles, lochs or demon absorbing mountains--needs you to whisper lovely ideas in her ear." Then bribe her. It's the right thing to do, I'm sure of it.
Thanks so much. I owe you one,