How I came to abandon "the muse"

I have a confession—I’ve become an atheist to the muse. 
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And for years I bought into this belief that I was touched by some creative whim or random chance or whatnot and it was in these moments of inspiration I must write for my life.

There is no muse. There is you, your keyboard, and the environment you create for yourself. In the words immortalized by Snoop Dogg: ““I want to thank me for believing in me, I want to thank me for doing all this hard work. I wanna thank me for having no days off. I wanna thank me for never quitting.” Words of wisdom, although not as profound as his quote, ““When I’m no longer rapping, I want to open up an ice cream parlor and call myself Scoop Dogg.” I mean, come on, that’s genius!

But what does this mean on a practical level? You see, for ages I was a slave to inspiration. I would have agonizing dry spells where no words would flow and then, suddenly, I would write for two days straight, hardly sleeping, eating at my desk, annoyed when anyone would bother me. I was capturing lightning in a bottle and it was delicate, time sensitive work.

But what I’ve come to believe is that I have far more control over the creative process than that and that is a very freeing thing.

Okay, so there’s the obvious things: You make a schedule, you write even when you’re not feeling it, you read more than you write, you practice, you “vomit on the page” and then revise, etc… but what else? What do you do when you don’t necessarily have writer’s block, but you also aren’t “feeling inspired”?

Here’s what I do: I have fun. When I started writing my last novel, before I’d even written the first word, I said to myself “I am going to write something that I want to read. I am going to write something I enjoy writing.”  If it feels like work, if it’s hard to get through writing it, how am I supposed to expect others to enjoy reading it? Writing, reading, creation in general, it’s all entangled. A writer is a reader is a creator is a painter is a dreamer is a writer. When you read, your mind fills in the blanks, you create, you paint a world beyond the words on the page. Reading is not passive. Writing is not passive.

So, if we look at it that way, as not two separate things, but rather all part of the same animal, it reveals something deeper: The only time you have control of the words you write are when you are the only person who has read them. Once you share them, they become more, they become an evolving, living thing. You cannot control how they are received. You cannot control the images a reader creates with the words. And all of that means, you had better get your intention and purpose clearly presented at the first.

Mediocre writing is quickly torn apart by consumers. Good writing, strong writing, it is able to stand on its own, and at the same time, allow for further exploration. It doesn’t lose its meaning as it is consumed, rather it is expanded upon, it becomes a springboard for more creation.
Reading is the muse.

 We do not exist in a vacuum. Every great book I’ve stayed up reading, every poem that has made my arms break out in goosebumps, every haunting song, every painting, every piece of human design, all of it is the foundation for my own creations.

Okay, great Lauren, that’s all fine. Very poetic. But how does that help me write a damn book?
I’m not sure. Hahaha! No, seriously, enjoy what you’re writing.

If I’m not enjoying writing a scene, if it’s dragging, if I’ve come to a point and I don’t know how to get from point A to point B, I don’t force it. Forced writing is obvious.

For example, let’s say I have a character named Bonnie and Bonnie is at home having a fight with her mother. The next plot point is she is at work and finds a mysterious box left on her desk.
So here’s how I might have written the scene several years ago:
 
“I don’t understand you anymore, Bonnie!” Martha glared at her daughter.
“What’s new?” Bonnie rolled her eyes.
“Maybe you should leave.”
“I’ve got to get to work anyway,” Bonnie said.
“Fine, go.” Her mother crossed her arms over her chest.
Bonnie sighed and grabbed her coat off the hook. She put it on and opened the door. She went out and climbed into her car. Her mother stood at the door and watched. Bonnie slid the car into reverse and pulled back out on the street. The traffic was light, at least. Bonnie turned on the radio and jammed out to her favorite songs while she drove the familiar route.
When she made it to work, she parked and went inside.
“Hey, Max!” she said as she passed her coworker. She went across the hall and opened the door to her office. Inside, she set her bag down and took her coat off.
That’s when she noticed the box, a strange, carved, wooden box. It was just sitting on her desk, next to the financial reports.  
 
Ugh! I’m SO bored! That wasn’t fun to write. I see a lot of writers who are obviously writing “filler” to get to the next scene they’re excited about. That’s the problem. If you’re not excited about a scene, then the scene needs to go, or at least change. Get excited about every scene. That’s how you create a story that doesn’t drag, that becomes “a fast read.” Now let’s try again and take out unnecessary information, like the transition to the office:
 
 “I don’t understand you anymore, Bonnie!” Martha glared at her daughter.
“What’s new?” Bonnie rolled her eyes.
“Maybe you should leave.”
“I’ve got to get to work anyway,” Bonnie said.
“Fine, go.” Her mother crossed her arms over her chest.
Bonnie sighed, grabbed her coat off the hook and then she was out the door.
The office was a neutral space, a place where Bonnie could just be, like a plain piece of manila paper.  That’s what she envisioned as she arrived and passed by Max’s door.
 “Hey, Max!”
Inside her own office, she shut the door firmly and shrugged off her coat.  
That’s when she noticed the box, a strange, carved, wooden box. It was just sitting on her desk, next to the financial reports.  
 
Okay, so it’s better. I’ve cut a lot of unnecessary writing. Plus, it was more fun to write. This might be all you need. Now, if you’ll indulge me a moment longer, I’ll really have some fun with the scene:
 
“I don’t understand you anymore, Bonnie!”
“What’s new?”
The words were unnecessary, they both knew what the other was going to say. Mothers and daughters, especially strong-willed ones, hardly ever hear one another. It was like reciting a script at this point.
“Maybe you should leave!”
“I’ve got to get to work anyway!”
Just words, as blank and meaningless as the beige tiles of Bonne’s office space, as the unadorned walls and uniform doors and windows.
“Hey Max!” Bonnie said out of habit to her coworker, who was half asleep at his desk when she arrived in the afternoon.
She took sanctuary in her own office, but couldn’t escape the fight with Martha that morning, the rote argument that rattled around in her brain.
The day, no not the day, her life--her life was so predictable that Bonnie could have continued on with her eyes closed.
And then she saw the box.  Small, wooden, and worn on the corners. It sat beside the financial reports, this strange object, like it had a right to just exist, like it had a right to be unexpected.  
 
I don’t know that this is great writing, but it was a hell of a lot more fun to write! I’ve eliminated the problem of plodding on from point A to point B by merging them into a single moment. Bonnie is lost in her thoughts, she’s simultaneously thinking about the fight with her mom, while coming into the office. The reader now is experiencing both things without the tediousness of “first she, then she, next she…”
I’m not saying this works for every scene. It doesn’t. Sometimes you need a sequential progression of events. Sometimes we need to see Bonnie drive to work, but only if it moves the plot forward and only if it isn’t BORING! In this case, I would argue it works because we are getting a taste of Bonnie’s perception, her state of mind as she encounters the mysterious box. Additionally, I don't believe I've lost any of the vital plot points from the first attempt. But even if I have, they were probably boring and needed to be pruned. 

Again, if you’re bored writing it, then how can you expect your reader to not be bored reading it?
Have fun, experiment, try a different style.

And above all, don’t wait for that damn muse. Reach up into your own brain and grab that inspiration and bend it to your will.

It gets easier with practice.