Okkervil River has an intensity like most my muses. Something about the band lightens up my face and makes my lips move in small, synchronized movements. My fingers twitch and my eyes fly left then right. A movie flickers onto my inner screen and I see life through a different person's eyes. I'm him or I'm her and I'm immersed in their feeling and ideas, wants and needs.

I'm shy to admit it, but if there is going to be any hope of me contributing productively to a creative writing reunion, I'm going to have to open up about my own writing process.
So this is my process. I blog because it stirs my thoughts. Any form of free form writing sifts my thoughts and feelings and pulls out all of my cravings to write something of significance.

I play a band or watch a movie or read a book that affects me so much as to cause the film to turn and the screen to fill with images. It repeats over and over again in my head and I feebly try to put sound to the images. The soundtrack of the music flows overhead and I stop talking and start feeling. I swim around in a river of emotions, kicking a leg towards the tributaries of confusion and purpose, only to backstroke down the middle listening to the swell of my own heart.
I dwell on relationships and how they build a character. How families mold a character and friendships twist and turn the mold into a friend or an outcast. How love gets in the way and does its own damage on people. I think of all of this and then I ask myself, how loved is this person? At the center of our being, at the end of the day when we achieve our success or learn from our failures, we want one thing more than ever. Love. We wants someone to share our successes with or we want someone we love to help us through the harder times. Love is the reason behind the slightest, unexplainable actions.

My muses get me through all of this. They drag me through this long drawn out process, granting me hope and fulfilling my curiosity, and then ever so slowly they lead me out back into reality so that my own life doesn't fail in comparison to my imagination.

This newest muse, where ever it may lead me, fosters my passion and pursuit. I am thankful to one person, for opening my eyes and ears to this band. I am regretful of whatever has happened to the possibility of a friendship, but am ever so grateful for this one inspiring gift. Whatever this blossoms in my writings, I owe that to you. Thank you.

Labels: Best of Libellus