Someone or something inspires you—to feel, to seek, to grow, to write. To write better. You may have different names for this entity—spouse, friend, teacher. For many of us, the name is muse.

Ancient Greek poets often opened pieces of epic poetry with an “invocation of the muse.” This plea was directed to the gods to serve as sources of inspiration and open the door to creative thoughts.

Who are our Greek gods? Maybe even more importantly—where do we find them?

Some people don’t believe a muse is external to the writer. Rather, it’s some inner, creative voice that just needs to be stimulated; it’s the unconscious side of our minds. Agatha Christie claimed she had her best ideas when taking a long bath. John Steinbeck believed in “sleeping on it,” finding solutions and inspiration in the morning. Ursula LeGuin let her unconscious mind do the writing, while her conscious mind made revisions later on.

Stephen King describes the writing process as analogous to having a bunch of guys with a truck pull up and unload furniture into your basement. All the writer has to do is unwrap each piece, carry it up the stairs, and set up in the correct rooms. The movers are the unconscious mind; they’re the muse. In this scenario, the writers doesn’t invent per se: they pull already-existing story elements out of the unconscious and arrange them where they belong on the page.

That may well be. And it’s probably true. But for some of us, a real “muse” can be of great assistance.

I keep a tray on my desk in which I collect odds and ends that I either need (pens, pads, vitamins) or that inspire me in some way (a fan I bought in Oxford, a beloved city; an icon; even a small skull that serves as a memento mori). And on that tray is a framed photograph. Not my mother; not a friend; not anyone I’ve encountered in life.

It’s a photograph of Mary Stewart. 

I’ve written before about how this mid-century writer of romantic thrillers has taught me most of what I know about writing; reading Mary Stewart is like taking a masterclass in the genre. But… her photograph? On my desk?

As you’ve probably already grasped, I need visual aids to guide me as I move through life. “Out of sight, out of mind” definitely applies in my world. So Mary sits on my desk. And—I know it’s fanciful—I imagine her talking to me. She reminds me to give my work my best effort. She reminds me to find the rhythm of words, to feel them cascading over me, to love the work so much I could drown in it. She pushes me when I’m tired to not give up or give in. Her lyrical writing, her clever plots, her ability to bring the reader inside a moment… it’s all there in her photograph. It’s who I want to be when I grow up.

And just as she talks to me, I talk to her. Yeah, I know, I need to get that finished now. Okay, you’re right, I’ll go back over it, I could find a better phrase.  

Fanciful. Silly, even. But it works for me. And I’m the last person to muck around with what works.

What works for you? Do you have a muse—human or otherwise? Where does your most authentic, most creative voice come from?

Whatever or whoever it is, you might consider framing it, putting it on your desk. You never know what amazing work could come from finding your muse.