Inspiration

"Inspiration will hit me. Anytime now, clown." -Me, in a journal from 25 years ago

One of the most frustrating things about writing is the fickle mistress named "Inspiration". I can't just conjure her at a time of my choosing, nor do I typically have time to sit around waiting for her arrival.

As any writer will tell you, we wear All The Hats. Nobody starts out getting paid good money for writing and makes a full-time living at it. We work other jobs (sometimes odd) to pay the bills - I've slung coffee, I've cleaned houses, I've worked as an editor, a teacher - all the while calling ourselves writers. Because it's not just what we do, it's who we are.

I began writing at the age of eight, which you'll see in my bio, and started getting paid for it (poorly) in my thirties. Even now, pushing fifty, I don't make my living as a writer. And, since that's true, the Fickle Mistress of Inspiration becomes simultaneously more important and more aloof. When I have the time to sit and write, it feels like she never shows up and, when I don't have the time to write, she toys with me from the periphery whispering, "If only you could devote yourself to me fully, day in and day out, I'd bring you all the riches in the world..."

(I know she's a liar. I do, I know this. But it's the way she whispers, the tantalizing flip of her hair, that voice...)

And I often wonder, will she and I ever cross paths long enough to create something enduring? Will the stars align in such a way that an unforgettable classic is forged? I may not know the odds off the top of my head, but I'm aware that they're incredibly low. Nevertheless, I'm compelled to invest those small shreds of time I find between my obligations in the hopes that brilliance may be lurking just around the corner.

Thank you for being here while I wait and while I hope.

Stephanie