The Writer’s Muse

There are times in any writer’s life when the stories have difficulty finding the light of day. Mind you, the desire to write, the love of writing still burns deep within, but the words are mute. In such situations, I have found that having a friend of the written works helps to bring out my muse, to broaden my creativity and bring life into my stories where once they laid lifeless.

For the last few weeks, my dearest friend, Luke, and I have been each others’ muse. We have been there to listen to each others’ words and to encourage the other when our fingers are afraid to move. Yes, those first few sentences can be scary. You may have an idea, a plot, characters, and an entire map of ideas and plans for each and every character, yet that first sentence is probably the scariest. Probably because we know it will probably change fifty times before we are completely done. What Luke and I have found over the last few weeks, though, is that having the encouragement and fierceness of each other drives us to do better, to write more, to be even more creative than we have ever thought possible.

The last few weeks have been amazing, and I have to say, I have noticed an improvement in my writing format. Where I lack, Luke excels and vice versa. His amazing use of descriptive writing makes me yearn to have such a talent, which has pushed me to work harder on building my sentences in such a way as to draw a person in. We have encouraged each other to read other books, pulling inspiration from the stylings of several amazing authors.

Because of our new found love of advancing and maturing our abilities to write, the novel that I had previously finished is back on the drawing board. It was the writings of other authors, such as Sherrilyn Kenyon, that broadened my mind to the idea that I don’t need to place myself inside a box. I realized that I had been working so hard at trying to keep things as historically accurate as possible, that I was losing something of myself that I loved more than anything: my love of fantasy and scifi.

I learned something about myself and I had to change it. I learned that I was afraid of someone “calling me out” on something that may not be true. But then, isn’t that what fiction is supposed to be all about? It’s supposed to be something that we create, a world in our minds that we choose to share with others. I was depriving myself of something I loved and adored for fear of rejection and antagonism.

I have now decided that my goal should not be to try and appease everybody in accuracy of the past, but to create a world in which the past is completely of my own making. For this new joy, this new destiny, I could thank so many people, but I am choosing to thank my dear friend, Luke, for which I would have never realized my own truth.

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