The click-clack of heels across a marble floor. A woman’s head held high because she knows she’s exquisite. Perfectly applied lipstick. The gray-green sky before a southern storm. The smell of smoke, burnt marshmallows, and pine needles. A ballerina en pointe. An artist with paint-splatter skin. Tattoos that tell stories. The push and pull of ocean waves. Red meat cooked right. A warm bubble bath.

Shelves full of books. Books full of notes. Notes full of ink that bleeds raw and real.

Oh, and Taylor Swift.

I think there’s a lot of pressure (as an artist of any kind) to be influenced by the “right” voices. Poetry is supposed to cite Frost, Blake, Poe, Keats, Plath, Dickinson, Tennyson, Chaucer. Fiction is supposed to cite Hemingway, Faulkner, Lee, Austen, Shelley, Morrison, Fitzgerald, Steinbeck. Even subgenres have their own standards, works you’re expected to know and take notes from if you write in that area. Who’s to say where anything meaningful in life starts or ends, though? If art is supposed to be subjective, why should we all have the same idols? I think it’s okay not to know who “invented” your style of writing. All good writers are good readers — I believe in development via osmosis for sure — but I think it’s okay if you couldn’t finish Grapes of Wrath or would rather read micro-poetry than sonnets. The most beautiful poem you’ve ever read could’ve been inspired by a pop song. My debut novel was inspired by a story my old college roommate told me about her high school reunion. Not everything has to be profound.

I think the same goes for finding your muse. It may feel strange to wake up from a dream about a celebrity or an ex and want to write about it, but that doesn’t make the ideas or words less valid. This is why Taylor Swift gets so much crap about her lyrics… and why her work is so damn relatable. As a woman in particular, though I’m sure all artists face this at some point, you get told you’re “making something out of nothing” a lot. And that can make it hard to put pen to paper, if you feel like what’s in your head or heart isn’t “worth” writing about. You know what, though? A good piece is a good piece. It doesn’t matter if you’re thinking about a stranger you kissed in an alley, the person sleeping in your bed, a stray cat, a cool rock, a really great meal. Sometimes, you don’t get to pick your muse. Sometimes, the muse chooses you. You decide whether or not you want to leash it.

Personally? I’m forever inspired by the idea of fate. Is it infallible? Can it mess up? Can it be reasoned or bargained with? I’m obsessed with the idea that certain people, places, and things are strung together with these tiny threads of starlight that they can either follow or fight. I’m also inspired by love itself, whether it manifests as desire for another person or passion for a hobby or dedication to a career or unflinching self-assurance. I’m never more motivated to write than when I read others’ writing, listen to others talk about their projects, or watch other artists at work. Yes, I’m still moved by the greats, but being able to trace a piece of writing back to its ancestors isn’t always what’s inspiring. Sometimes it’s just how the work affects you right here, in this moment, with all the other undefined pieces of you.

Love, Claire 💜