Inspiration. The word is so common in the literary world, so much talked about and so very much wished for. It is basically dependent on a muse, graciously calling on writers, inspiring them to create their stories. And when she doesn’t deign to visit, their creativity is dormant. Enter the notorious writer’s block.
As I stated before, I personally don’t believe in writer’s block. I know that if I sit at my desk, waiting for her Majesty the Muse to drop in on me, I may be waiting for a very, very long time—in vain. So I prefer having faith in a daily writing routine, which depends solely on my discipline. Unlike the ever ethereal muse, my routine is tangible and reliable, because when I stay at the computer for some time, my mind and imagination start complying with my fingers hitting the keys.
This is not to say that I don’t believe in the power of inspiration. I do! When it hits me, my head is spinning from the rush of images and ideas, my heart is bursting with joy, while my hands are flying over the keyboard. It’s the best time ever! So, of course, I’d rather be inspired than not.
Therefore, when I’m stuck, for whatever reason, I actively search for inspiration. I have plenty of sources. For instance, it can be a place that I visited and loved.
And that’s what happened today. I looked through my photos of Germany where I once lived with my husband and our dogs, Rudi and Gretchen. We resided in Hessen, but in the summers we made several car trips to Bavaria. We would climb the Alps, up and up and up until we reached the snow, and have picnics there, admiring the splendid view of Garmisch-Partenkirchen below us and the snowy peaks above us.
The city and the mountains were a great inspiration for my first novel, Disengaged. So today, while looking at those pictures, I was flooded with happy memories, and my creative energy returned. Woo-hoo! 🙂
Here’s I am with Rudi.