I’m at a mid-day break between two projects; an interlude, an intermission; and a concept has been bubbling for a day or two in my head that I want to kind of grab and wrangle and deconstruct and see if I can make some sense out of it.
The concept is “the muse”. A (the?) source of inspiration. I’m not sure if the definite or indefinite article is appropriate, because I’m not sure if there can be more than one source active at any one time. Can creativity spring forth from two foreheads simultaneously? I’m not sure. People talk about the creative spark, singular, definite article; it’s never “sparks.” Are we snipers, bringing ideas down to the ground with a single shot; or machine gunners, unloading everything we have during the creative impulse?
I’m pretty sure I’m a sniper.
Who’s your muse? Who is mine? I get struck by ideas and inspiration from a lot of angles, but at any given point I get enveloped by a single idea, a single source, a single Other, a single Muse; and it’s very clear to me what the source is, and the source is intertwined with my output in ways that are complex and hard to tease apart. I described this to a friend last night – I like to open my mouth and suck the inspiration out of the air; it sort of floats around, ready to be commandeered, shaped, molded, and repurposed; and 99% of the time, the source – the muse – is unaware of the inspirational theft. Or perhaps I should say “borrowing.” It’s not theft because I don’t think inspiration is anywhere near a zero-sum game, and my experience working with startup types here in Seattle has convinced me of exactly the opposite: that inspiration, shared, drives even more inspiration in those around you; that collaboration is recursively fulfilling; that when I play Muse to you and you play Muse to me, we have created something spectacular and otherworldly.
By implication – and I’m not sure if this is true or not, but bear with me – the solo Muse, the unheralded, unacknowledged Source – is sort of a one-legged racer. Without the sharing, the collaboration, the close and intimate exchange, the batting-back-and-forth of ideas, you’re not really living as deep and resourcefully as you could be.
But then – aha, we’re starting to get to the heart of that tickle in my brain from earlier – you need to find a way to find a Muse, or Muses, plural; and acknowledge it, out it, make it visible, and that is a hard thing. If someone inspires you, there’s not a great framework in place for you to say “You inspire me,” without seeming odd or archaic or just plain weird. Yet, each of us goes through the day being more or less inspired, so why not?
Inspiration is a bad fit for the language we normally use for relationships: “acquaintance”, “friend”, “lover”, “partner”. These terms all refer to the degree of physical and emotional intimacy we share with someone; but in some ways, inspiring, and being inspired by, someone else can be a VERY intimate thing, even though no physical intimacy takes place. “Muse” thus is orthogonal, odd, and a troublesome concept to try to shoehorn in.
Yet, there it is. It exists. It means we (I) have to find a way to seek out and acknowledge those that inspire me, and share, and not feel awkward. So as I would be; so as I must therefore do.

