Chasing the Muse ... Slowly

Jack Frost comes way too early
 for one apple-grower

Biographies are not my favorite books, but in the past few years, I have been reading a lot of them, particularly the biographies of writers. And though the writers I’ve read may have written in vastly different genres, I find they have a lot in common. One curious thread that holds them together in my mind is that they were also great walkers. No, they didn’t stroll to the mailbox and back with great style and ease. I’m talking on the road, one foot in front of the other, for hours.

C S Lewis and JRR Tolkien were known for their long walking journeys with friends. From reading Lewis’s biography, I gather that this was his 2nd favorite thing to do. 

Brenda Ueland (If You Want To Write), recommends long, purposeless walks where the mind gets to run while you get lost in the monotony of step after step after step. 

When Charlotte Bronte could not walk over her wind-swept, heather-lined moors, she paced in her living room into the wee hours of the morning.  

Even my not-so-favorite authors walk. 

John LeCarre said, “I live on a Cornish cliff and hate cities. I write and walk and swim and drink.” To include walking as a verb which describes what one does in life is a significant testament to the pastime. 

Stephen King, as per his book on writing, took almost-daily walks, so consistently that chance met up with him in the form of a reckless driver. 

David Thoreau said, “When sometimes I am reminded that the mechanics and shopkeepers stay in their shops not only all forenoon, but all the afternoon too, sitting with crossed legs, so many of them, as if the legs were made to sit upon and not to stand or walk upon–I think that they deserve credit for not having committed suicide long ago.”

A state park near Munising, MI.

It is amazing what even a short, brisk walk will do for you. Outside you have no control of the story. You may be chilled, shivering or sweating, your skin may be burning under the sun. Your body has a challenge, but your mind–ahhh, it is free, free to roam over everything and anything, interrupted at times by significant sights that may connect dead thoughts to a rush of inspiration. Your mind, after going over boring mundane stuff for the first few minutes, will fly away and land in places you never considered. The mind must be given idle time, says Brenda Ueland, to float where it will go, out into something so much bigger and infinitely more creative than us.

  
And creation is not predictable, it’s not like contemporary architecture–all work and no play. The trees, for example, not only do they make oxygen for us, supply us with building materials and places for small animals and birds to live, but they have a built-in aesthetics, they are Victorian in their architecture. They are full of detail, curves, texture, different colors. A tree is a seeming riot of themes all making up one living thing.  A person can’t stand before a hardwood forest on the slope of a mountain in autumn and not take note of the grand aesthetics that never seem to go out of style. And when you spend enough time around them, some of that beauty and creativity rubs off on you, if you let it. 

Suburban backyard

Sylvan settings or countryside vistas aren’t the only walking routes that will inspire. I’ve lived in a few different suburban neighborhoods and have discovered that until you get out and walk the sidewalks and watch the people, you don't really know the place. But when you do get out, those impressions will lodge in your grey matter, hidden from your immediate consciousness and then sometime in the future, they will pop up again at just the right time to fill a void in your creativity. 

Even though you may walk the same route every 365 days of the year, you may be surprised with the diversity of what you notice and feel–outside you can’t stack the deck like you can line up songs in your iPod. If you’ve never chased your muse at such a casual pace, it might take a few tries to catch him or her at first. But soon you’ll be surprised what a little leg-work can do for your creativity.