You know how it feels, don’t
you, to sit down at the computer/typewriter and have a Muse sitting beside you
whispering in your ear?
You know that it isn’t
only you who are doing the work.
You know that there are
unseen forces at work. So you can’t really take credit for it. (Perhaps when the
writing stinks, the voice is saying, “Ah ha,” you weren’t listening.” )
You were trying to please
the masses, your audience, your customer.
That’s not your job—unless
that’s what you want to do—we do need to make a buck from time to time.
The greater calling,
however, is to do the work—your work, what your are meant to do.
No more sharpening pencils,
washing dishes, shingling the roof, sit your butt down on the chair, place your
fingers on the keys, and listen.
Now type.
You’ll write crap—that’s
okay, you have an ongoing relationship with the Muse, the angel, the still
small voice. But you are persistent. You are doing the work.
You are an artist.
Oh, there are hacks out
there, and you’ll get pulled into that trap from time to time—you’ll try to
please the audience, to follow an established route, to listen to the gurus,
without remembering that you have one sitting on our shoulder.
And then you’ll stop. You’ll
listen, “Do the work you were meant to do.”
Write it down/ paint
it/write the music/ create/cure cancer/build the next great gizmo. Do what you
were sent here to do.
