Every scene tells a story, nay, myriad stories. And behind every story is a spark of inspiration. That spark grows to a kernel of something. Then the kernel builds to a ball of magic, with words swirling through my mind and forming trails of sentences on the page.
The spark might ignite a distant memory; my subconscious searching past thoughts, comments, emotions, images, sounds, experiences until it grasps that elusive thread and starts to construct a story, word by word, weaving the words together phrase by phrase until the fabric is a whole.
Click, click, click. Loud, fast footsteps walking the footpath in front of me transport me immediately to that time I was following a man in pointed leather boots with hand-crafted wooden heels running for the bus. He missed it and the frustration showing on his face invited conversation. What happened next? Did I discover we were neighbours? Did he take out his frustration at missing the bus on me as soon as I started speaking? Did we become best friends? That click of a designer heel on a suburban street became my very own choose your own adventure.
I don’t wait for the muse. I don’t need to; I see her hiding behind corners when I’m daydreaming and she whispers in my ear when I hear that song I loved years ago. She glides through the air on the swing hanging from a branch of a beautiful jacaranda tree, delicate mauve flowers falling into her long flowing hair. Sitting down to a meal with my family often sees muse joining us, the aroma from the kitchen and the taste and texture of our food inviting inspiration from familiar, comforting scenes.
My world is one of untold stories. Inspiration can strike at any time, forcing me to expend my creative energy and invent something new for an audience of one, or thousands.
