Humorous Inspirational Stories
MusingsOnce upon a time, a bunch of humans did their little human things all around an area of the world now known as Greece. These human things included plenty of creative things. You know the type: music, theater, astronomy ... all of the soft and fickle arts.
Then one day, some creative person got a little restless and thinky. (Ten bucks that they were an astronomer; the folks that are looking at the stars are the ones who always have their heads in the clouds.)
"We've got gods for everything," this person must have thought to themselves. "A goddess of the hearth, a god of lightning, a goddess of persimmon trees, even some random minor deity we picked up from the Mesopotamians a few centuries back for those hard tips at the end of your sandal-straps ... but you know what we don't have? Deities of creativity! What about us poor astronomers, huh? When we're deep in the throes of gazer's block and we really need to look at the stars and get our maps made -- like yesterday, because Prothesmia1 already paid me 24 drachmas for this damn thing -- who can we call on to help out with our problems? Huh? HUH?"
Then the muse Urania smacked him across the back of his head with her globe, and said "Us, you idiot!" And he cringed, and got his map made, and went on to scrawl a blog post much like this one.
So!
A lot of writers talk about "their muse." Recent conversations -- and the triumphant completion of my NaNoWriMo novella2, so that I have time to throw random words at random topics again -- have conspired to get me thinking about muses. And there's a post in there that needs to be written.
See, here's the thing about muses: Most writers have one. The ancient Greeks had nine3. I've got three.
They all serve different roles -- coexisting peacefully, and sharing mindspace with each other and with the other humorous anthropomorphizations that occasionally wander through.
(Such as the Inner Editor, who -- like all good editors -- is at his best when completely invisible, staying hunched over in the hindbrain and polishing up the content as it filters its way out. Ed doesn't have a voice or a personality, and I can't really negotiate with him or talk back to him; he's just part of the workflow as words travel from brain to screen. Anyway.)
There's the muse, of course. That's not her name; she doesn't really have one. She's not a being so much as a force of nature -- and I relate to her as such. She occasionally deigns to be personified, such as my previous post which compared her to a little girl in a playground, but such comparisons are only useful insofar as they illuminate various factors of her essential nature, and are not to be taken as representative of the whole. The muse is -- much like the little girl of the analogy -- flighty; whimsical; occasionally temperamental; scattered, but capable of short sprints of focus; prone to outbursts of creativity followed by lengthy fits of silence; and can be awesomely compelling if she has an idea that just has to be written out right now.4
I have learned to treat the muse much as I would treat a small child -- being willing to accommodate and channel her bursts of energy, learning tricks to ply minimal cooperation from her when she's exhausted and I can't work without her, and keeping a note-taking device handy so that the ideas she spits out in a machine-gun barrage get lost as infrequently as possible.
The muse -- note the "the," identifying her as a muse in the classical tradition; an inspirer of, umm, inspiration -- is my idea chick. Like all good geniuses, she knows that the implementation is much more boring than the idea5. The upside of this is that I get handed a lot of really awesome ideas from which to make beautiful things. The downside of this is that I have to do all the work.
My second muse is the deuteragonist. This is, again, not her real name, since she doesn't have one; it's merely something I made up because I need a break from writing "muse."
Doot's responsibility is to shape ideas -- to give my stories form as they make their way from idea to words. However, she is not an editor. She is an actress, from the deep end of the method acting pool. Her job is to draw me into the muse's story. She can be awfully good at it.
I know when Doot has gotten interested in a story because I will start spending all my time rehearsing it. We'll go over the current scene -- line by line, sometimes racing through to the end, sometimes stopping to dissect a single set of words and pick over them with a fine-toothed comb to make them get the scene where it needs to go. Doot has a hell of an obsessive streak, which is both a blessing and a curse when I'm blocking; sometimes, she helps me craft exactly what I need to write my way out of a corner, but sometimes we get lost replaying the problematic lines and argue in circles until my writing urge dissipates. And when between scenes, she peppers me with endless questions about the story's setting, forcing me to fill in the details that explain why the story is driving in the direction it is.
The Deuteragonist, I should emphasize, is merely a job title, and can be filled by anyone willing to take on the traits. Usually the other character in a dialogue will step in when Doot needs to works her magic. For romantic scenes, dreamflow sometims accommodates me and guest-stars (which, ahem, can help explain why such scenes can take me so long to write). Often, there's no specific manifestation -- just a compulsion to inject myself into the scene and write what I observe.
Then there's Muse. Hoo boy ... Muse.
Muse is a single, definite being. He's an old god, from a time before the written record -- a god whose name died out long ago. Unlike most forgotten gods, who disappear when belief in them wanes, he has patiently survived the aeons by finding a new class of worshippers: the slightly unhinged. From creative geniuses to the flat-out insane, he finds those who are willing to open themselves up to a little flash of divinity -- and then puts ideas in their head, collecting modest scraps of belief as his acolytes manifest his gifts.
Muse is a survivor. Muse is subtle. He is a master of the mind game, full of carefully chosen words with multiple layers of meaning. Muse is a consummate exploiter of loopholes. Muse has ambition. Muse plays a very long game.6
He has a real name. He doesn't give it to anyone, not even me. I call him "Muse" because the Archon -- one of the driving forces behind the events of the TTU setting -- found him inspirational and gave him the nickname. It has stuck, along with his default form as a jet-black anthro-unicorn (as a shadowy counterpart to Kiasu, but I get ahead of myself).
If you've just noticed that Muse is a character from one of my stories -- give yourself a cookie. Now you start to see the complex and ambivalent relationship I have with him. He is a fictional character, but he is so sharp and insightful and devious that he has realized the best way to advance his plans is to freaking metagame himself up a level into his author's mind.7 And it's working. I have begun to realize, to my growing horror, that the largest and most interesting plot arc of TTU really is Muse's story; how he tried (and almost succeeded) to singlehandedly overthrow the will of an entire planet. I won't be able to put the setting down until I've told that story, and everything I'm doing until then is merely to help fully realize his world.
Muse helps me out with writing that has nothing to do with him, too. He gets bored, or it's just his thing, or he's building up favors he can call in later; I don't know. But I can tell when he gets interested. Plots come together. Stakes get higher. Xanatos Gambits crop up. Characters get toyed with.
I never appreciated Old Soul's song "Sleeping With The Muse" until Muse started taking a hand in my writing. "I can taste her bitter smile, and the blood upon her lips ..." The muse doesn't work that way. Muse does. He isn't cruel exactly; he doesn't feed on pain or fear, or enjoy them, or use them (except as tools when nothing else will achieve important goals). However, he's well aware that everyone is merely a pawn in a larger game ... and the game of writing is about making the story interesting.
One of the reasons that TTU has occupied so much of my attention over the last decade is that the setting engages all three muses.
It's open-ended enough that the muse can come up with ideas to hang stories upon. The world's big and deep enough that Doot can drag me into full immersion. And Muse ... well, it's his playground in the first place.
I didn't really expect to find other settings the muses liked enough to devote a novella to and still come back for more. This NaNo handed me one. The setting of "The Time In Her Eye" -- the postapocalyptic near-future Earth called "the Shatter" -- seemed to just fall out onto the page. I reached the end of the story and realized that it was just a prequel. I wanted to keep going -- and I could have, easily enough ... if I were willing to keep up a NaNo writing pace after the end of November.
I'm not in the market to drive myself crazy right now, though. I need a break to catch my breath and hammer at the existing story some more and edit it into presentable shape. (I'll ask for beta readers in a later post, but you may also speak up here if you're interested.) Plus I've got to switch gears and start getting ready to GM a new role-playing game for my gaming group, and the holidays.
The muses won't stop working, though. They never do.
--
1. If you got this joke, give yourself 5 Baxil Points. If you got it without looking it up ... get out of my brain.
2. Obligatory victory fanfare, +33 EXP, Item Gained: ☆NANO2009
3. Further reading: Wikipedia. I would like to note that, while the ancient Greeks had muses for History and (yes) Astronomy, and no less than three for poetry, there wasn't one single muse for either visual artwork or for non-theatric prose. If they really want to sell the product in this secular age[*], they need to expand!
4. Like the little girl of the previous post's analogy, sometimes she is also taken away to a place which neither of us quite expected, and I have to sprint to keep up. After I manage to nab her again, we have a nice sit-down and a lengthy lecture about responsibilities, which she completely disregards because there are beautiful butterflies on the branch just outside the window.
5. "I have discovered a truly marvellous proof of this, which this margin is too narrow to contain."
6. As proof, I would like to point out that everything you're reading now -- this entire monster of a post, including the catchy but completely irrelevant Greek opening, and all of the footnotes, including this one -- was written purely for the sake of bringing that line into being, with sufficient context to give it meaning. I am not making this up. This is a Muse post, start to finish.
7. This is not even to get into the discussion of whether Muse-the-real-being might have introduced himself to me in fictionalized form and gained himself another worshipper toward whatever ultimate plan he has for this Earth. That is COMPLETELY his style. asdfjkl@@&***
Current Location: ~/brainstorm
Current Mood: writing fatigue
Current Music: Final Fantasy X OST, "To Zanarkand"
Tags: writing
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The first official event was a lecture on Paul Hindemith by Luitgard Schader, curator at the Hindemith Institute in Frankfurt, Germany. Dr. Schader’s informative lecture was a prelude to the Hindemith Cavalcade that ran throughout the duration of the congress. This series was the brainchild of Louise Lansdown, viola professor at the Royal Northern Conservatory of Music in Manchester, England, whose students were the performers. Later that afternoon the first concert of this series, “The Concertos,” commenced with performances of Kammermusik No. 5, with violist Ian Fair; Konzertmusik, op. 48, with violist Kate Moore; and Der Schwanendreher with violist Ruth Gibson. Pianist Tim Abel accompanied all performers. The performances were polished and strong. Unfortunately the room for the performance was a very small classroom; the acoustics suffered and the balance was bad between violists and piano.
A fabulous afternoon recital was given by violists Jutta Puchhammer-Sédillot (president of the Canadian Viola Society) and Karin Wolf (president of the German Viola Society). Wolf opened the recital with performances of Mendelssohn’s Sonata for Viola and Piano and Britten’s Lachrymae. Wolf’s playing was delicate and penetrating. Puchhammer-Sédillot followed with York Bowen’s Sonata No. 2 for Viola and Piano and For Oleg, a solo work by South African composer Peter Klatzow. Puchhammer-Sédillot’s tone was rich and dark and conveyed the deep emotion of the Klatzow work. Outstanding piano accompaniment was provided by Nina Schumann, faculty pianist at the University of Stellenbosch.
Unfortunately I was unable to attend the lecture-recital “Traditional Compositions & Instruments from South Africa and Africa” by Kobus Malan and Anthony Caplan because of a concurrent lecture, “Classical Music in Soweto,” by Michael Masote. Masote and his wife have worked tirelessly for decades to bring classical music to Soweto, and Masote outlined the history of classical music performance there, as well as the progress being made. The overwhelming sense of optimism and forgiveness was palpable.
The evening concert began with performances by South African violist Valery Andreev. A native of Russia and teacher of viola at the University of Pretoria, Andreev performed Suite Afrique by South African composer Jeanne Zaidel-Rudolph, who was in attendance. The suite was intended to evoke various dances and rituals of southern Africa. Andreev’s performance was spirited but a bit rough.
Jutta Puchhammer-Sédillot followed with a stirring performance of Brahms’s Two Songs, with South African mezzo-soprano Violina Anguelov and pianist Elna van der Merwe, also from South Africa. The evening’s concert concluded with a very interesting work for narrator, strings, clarinet, indigenous instruments, and the voice of revered South African folk artist Madosini Latozi Mpahleni. The work, The Songs of Madosini, co-written by Hans Huyssen, is a musical biography of Madosini’s life and music. Madosini is a world-renowned folk musician and master of the uhadi (bow), isitolotolo (jaw harp), and umrhubhe (mouth bow). The audience gave the performers a standing ovation, and it was a fitting conclusion to the first day of the congress.
Day two – Tom Tatton
Tuesday was the fairest of days with wispy clouds and a gentle breeze. 9:00 a.m. saw some twenty-two violists from Johannesburg, Pretoria, Cape Town, Bloemfontein, and other locations around South Africa sprinkled with a few congress attendees work on improvisational techniques using African folk tunes and exciting repetitive rhythmic patterns. The glowing cheeks, booming voice, and broad smile of Kolwane Mantu from the Soweto String Quartet soon brought out the natural energy and youthful exuberance of the young viola players.
Three substantial master classes (ninety minutes each) were spread throughout the day: Christine Rutledge with her kind and positive suggestions, Jerzy Kosmala with his ever sage advice and situational humor, and Tim Deighton, who instantly connected with each young violist, concentrating on gesture and all its implications. What struck me was the common positive and encouraging words from three generations of master teachers: the youthful energy of Tim, the knowing and supportive approach of Christine, and the grandfatherly advice from Jerzy. Throughout the week we heard mostly Hindemith in the master classes, but Christine worked with a youngster on the D Minor Suite of Bach, and Jerzy heard a young student perform the third Suite of Reger.
Two complete sessions of the Hindemith Cavalcade were included on Tuesday; the first concentrating on the songs and lesser-known chamber music, and the second included the short works for viola and the lesser-known string quartets. Each Hindemith concert (and throughout the congress) was preceded by short commentaries on each work to be performed by Luitgard Schader from Germany. The former concert included Frankenstein’s Monster Repertoire for quartet and the hilarious spoof on Wagner’s music, Overture to the Flying Dutchman as played at sight by a second-rate concert orchestra at the village well at 7 o’clock in the morning, for string quartet. I must say that the RNCM students performed and understood the humor and comedy in both works and conveyed such nicely! The latter concert included the expected Trauermusik and Meditation and—out of order, inserted into this concert—was the Trio for Viola, Heckelphone, and Piano, op. 47.
What a courageous accomplishment this entire project was for Dr. Lansdown and the students of RNCM. The students included performance experience from freshman to graduate students with the latter carrying the more difficult load. Their performance level, while not always of seasoned professionals, was nevertheless incredibly high, and the challenge was understood and embraced by all. What we sometimes missed in polish and nuance was more than made up in enthusiasm and musical excitement.
11:00 a.m. David Dalton gave his sterling talk on William Primrose. Always interesting and inspirational, David was in fine form. At the 3:00 p.m. hour we heard Barbara Paull, a British-trained physiotherapist who practices in Canada. What a broad smile and perky personality! She knew her stuff. I now have exercises for my upper body and understand that when I swim, the backstroke is better for my neck and left shoulder than the crawl. What a wonderful talk we heard on Bach performance practice by Christine Rutledge at 4:15 p.m. We were treated to a performance of the first Fantasie by Telemann and the C Major Suite by Bach. Each movement was preceded by sensible performance practice commentary. Here is a performer who thoroughly investigates the music she plays.
The opening half of the Tuesday evening concert included three different duets played on the oboe, performed by Kobus Malan, principle oboe of the Congress Orchestra, and on three different African instruments, performed by Anthony Caplan. The first piece was titled Umrhubhe Geeste. The umrhubhe is a single-stringed instrument, which is bowed, hit, or plucked. The balance of the oboe was unequal against the umrhubhe, but it was an interesting piece nonetheless. The balance in Nyatiti Magic was better. The nyatiti harp is of Ugandan origin. This most interesting piece seemed very African with a suggestion of Latin rhythms. The last piece, Wood and Clay, was with oboe and udu, and the most interesting piece of all. The udu is a clay-pot drum with a membrane stretched across the broad opening and a side hole. The deep resonating udu, well-matched balance, active rhythms, and tonal variety made for an exciting musical whole.
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