Science, Genius, & Writer's Inspiration

If you ever have to make a choice between learning and inspiration, choose learning. It works more of the time. ~Lois McMaster Bujold (1988)

When inspiration does not come, I go for a walk, go to the movie, talk to a friend, let go... The muse is bound to return again, especially if I turn my back. ~ Judy Collins (2006)

The above quotes are excellent opinions in an ancient debate. This is the argument on the nature of inspiration. (If you haven't yet, I would highly recommend checking out Elizabeth Gilbert's talk on creativity and divine inspiration. It is excellent and will definitely make the following more -sensical)

I've read many, MANY posts from agents, writers, and editors, none of whom can seem to agree on just where this wild thing called "inspiration" comes from. The popular voice seems inclined to view inspiration as internal, i.e. a result of our own subconscious, bubbling in the electric juices of our synapses, working its way to the forefront of our minds.

To say anything else has long been dismissed by less romantic writers. After all, our present world views itself through the lens of science. If my socks go missing, I don't blame it on pixies, nixies, or the punishment of gods. If my characters fail to behave, it's completely my own fault. I made a mistake somewhere and I have to go back and - for the love of all that is holy!!!- find where it all went wrong. Fix the formula. Fill my mind with the writing of artists better than me. If this jet runs dry, I am responsible for filling it up myself.

But is that all?

It's become clear to me over the years that it - no, I cannot possibly be the beginning and end.

This is where Elizabeth mentions the "genius." Rather than a person being a genius, in the ancient days they were said to "have a genius." I don't see how this could really be so far from the truth. To my mind, this links to the topic of faith. This mentality sees inspiration as external, relying on something beyond our own experience/knowledge.

I can't believe that I am my own god, that all my inspiration comes solely from within myself. I know myself enough to foresee the pressure of perfection, the narcissism of success, and the ultimate relational and self-destruction that would come of it.

I am resigned, then, to think of inspiration as a symbiotic relationship, neither wholly external nor internal, but rather a joining of parts. No, I mustn't wait for the lightning of inspiration to hit me, but I can pray that it will. If, in the meantime, I must learn, aspire, and perspire, so be it.

But when there comes a moment of pure success, where my pages sing and the ink smolders, I cannot take complete credit for it. There are some things you just know. And I know I'm good...but I'm not that good.