Creative people are different, with different creative processes. We know this. In a community that eschews absolutes and certainties, and intentionally rebels against structure and laws, one of the few constants on which we will agree is that different people have different ways of producing art. However, we also know that some patterns for producing art are more successful than others, so we try to learn from one another, and search for the best methods to merge with our own personalities and styles.
One approach is to assign all creative inspiration to an outlying entity, viewing the artist not as the producer of art, but as a conduit from the creative ether into the real world. This belief is at least as old as ancient Greece, and has adherents in Middle Eastern and far Eastern cultures as well. In most instances it manifests as a religious figure or experience. This entity has gone by many names, including “the Genius,” “the Muse,” “the Awen,” and of course, “the Holy Spirit.” Whatever name assigned, this entity is typically regarded as fickle yet exquisitely powerful, allowing its conduit to produce perfect or near perfect art in the first draft or composition. Unsurprisingly, artists that espouse this belief often construct elaborate rituals through which they hope to invoke the creative spirit, abasing themselves in supplication to a mysterious being in hopes of currying its favor.
Not all creative people ascribe their ability to this unseen force of inspiration. Some view it as a crutch, an excuse for laziness, even a thief that steals the glory of accomplishment from the creator. In my admittedly limited experience, professional creators advise killing the Muse in favor of working on your own terms. It makes sense; professionals are working on a clock. They can’t afford to wait around for inspiration to show up. Professionals have to produce something and fast, otherwise they don’t eat.
Personally, I don’t think I am a professional, or even want to be a professional. I want to be an artist, I want to get it right. I don’t want my work to suffer because I forced it. It is evident, I think, when the Muse has been permitted to work an idea versus creative work produced on a schedule. Mature art is well rounded, cohesive. It flows and it all makes sense, unless it’s supposed to be jarring or senseless. Quick art from a consistent artist is usually at least passable, but not brilliant. I offer Stephen King as an example.
King is one of the most prolific authors in the industry. Other successful wordsmiths take time out to promote their novels and do speaking engagements. King, it seems, just writes. Since 1973, Stephen King has written 54 novels, six non fiction books, and 200 short stories. Some of those narratives are wonderfully crafted, but others are, frankly, terrible. Doesn’t matter, he sells them all based on the consumer’s hope that it will be a good one. It would appear that King does not believe in the Muse, but then he has that “Dark Tower” series. It took 22 years to complete those seven books. The reason is because he wanted to get it right. He could have dashed off a trilogy in two years, could have done all seven in about four years, but they wouldn’t have been what he allowed them to be, and I think most critics and readers agree that the literary world is a better place for his patience.
