the muse is a harsh mistress
my muse wakes me at times somewhere between too late and too early. it interrupts conversations. it makes me hum strange melodies to my voicemail. it gives me a vacant look while walking down the street. it has ruined my life. it has made my life worth living.
it even has fights with itself. one idea can barely be finished or even started before another comes along to challenge the first for my attention.
i try to focus, but it glamors me, tarnishing the skin of the creations it deems unworthy. what was once a work of great promise becomes yesterday's dirty laundry. i'm faced with the choice of choosing to toil away at cleaning it, or turning my gaze to the shiny new object. both approaches have their pitfalls.
one theory is that if something gestates too long, it loses its immediacy and life. that can be countered with the idea that if something doesn't die, it has more potential longevity. i tend to gravitate toward the latter concept.
another side effect of the muse delaying completion of the music is, the longer it takes, the more angry i become. which means i'm less likely to feel like crooning sweet melodies in my head voice. this ends up skewing the muse of course.
fortunately, the muse can make a quick turnaround. what was once out of favor will suddenly be attractive again due to a change of instrument in my head. when that happens, it's best to give in and act on its impulses. before they change again.