Musing on the vanished muse


“It is more than a little insidious how a worsening health situation can morph you into a person you never imagined you were or could become.”

I wrote that in September of 2011.   That was a bleak time.  Times are less bleak right now and the warmer weather is part of the improvement.  Somehow manufacturing more industrial strength acceptance of my situation without excessive self-flagellation helps.  Also I am trying to get out more with camera in hand and taking photographs with it, not just carrying it for ballast.

One area that I am puzzling over is the near total abandonment by my poetry muse.  She has flown the coop and I am ticked.  I have attempted poetry since I was a kid and right now it often seems like beginning neurosurgery rather than resuming a life long pursuit. According to a few people I have had a few moments of real success in this area, but right now it is something I tell myself I want to do and yet I shun it.   Believe me when I say I have considered this from a number of angles almost to the point of exhaustion certainly near to the address of farce: the physical environment (writing space), routine or the lack of a standard schedule of scribble time, lack of peer scribblers to review material, the apparent pointlessness of the activity, and other things.  I ask the question: what were the conditions in the past that made it easier to write.  What conditions exist now that make it more difficult.   Not much clarity emerges from all this.

It may be silly but I am wondering if the bio rollercoaster of dialysis–the process works the heart hard and one’s electrolytes get messed around with as well, flakey fatigue patterns, vampire-like insomnia–could have something to do with the dry poetic well. I keep on kicking over stones looking for worms to go fishing with down at the poem pond.  I will try and post a few attemted poems this month here on bluetyger.

One thing is certain the primary rule of writing still applies and I could do better in applying it:

“Apply ass to chair and stay there over the page.”

As for attitude of the personal kind, I made up a quip about this a long time ago.

“Attitude is everything, unless of course, you are flying, in which case altitude comes first.”

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Author: William J. Gibson

62 year old - writer/photographer Canadian, survived open heart surgery, received kidney transplant, sometimes dour, sometimes amusing, over six feet in height, severely follicle challemged

5 thoughts on “Musing on the vanished muse”

  1. William,
    Good post. Hang in there with the writing! I know that the ‘wringing out’ process of dialysis can interfere – and some days will be better than others.
    Best wishes – Bob Bear

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