Letter to my muse

Oh, honey. I miss you. I know that I’ve been asking you, these last few weeks, to spend your precious energy on things that don’t make your heart sing. Things like proposals and asking for recommendations. Things that feel like they require you to justify yourself.

I know these things don’t make your heart sing because when I’m writing them, they don’t make my heart sing. Blah blah qualifications yadda yadda pricing blah yadda. I completely understand why you’d be bored and grumpy and turned off by the whole thing.

And yet, I’m equally sure that I can’t write these things without you — what would I say? — and that writing them is the clearest path to bringing our beautiful voices out into the world.

This feels like an impasse to me, but I know that you’re wiser than that. You already know what it is that you need in order to be delighted with the idea of writing, rather than detached from it. You’re completely in touch with the passion that forms the bedrock of what we have to say, and you remember how I can be in touch with it too.

And so, dear one, could you do me a favor? Write me a letter. Tell me about how I can help you do the fun parts, and how I can make the other parts more fun for you. Complain, whine, whisper sweet nothings in my ear. I promise whatever you say will be okay, and that I will respect that we work together best when we’re in agreement. I know you’re trying to take care of us and keep us safe, and I want to help, so I need you to tell me a little more about how to do that. Okay?

love and kisses,

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