I always wonder what I should write about. I go over it in my mind and think of the different genres and ideas that go shooting through my head as if it were a busy intersection and the light was turning yellow. Then I remember a quote I read somewhere once that said, “write what you know,” but that always seemed so cliche. A want-to-be writer writing about wanting to be a writer.
It was cliche but nearly everything in the world is. Like the twitter meme’s that take a popular movie and add a twist to it:
Dances with Wolves, but in outer space.
Braveheart, but with forest animals.
Star Wars, but under water.
Are there any original ideas left? Or has it been a long time since there was one and every idea for a story for hundreds of years has been one of a few variety with their own twist to it?
But then I thought I could write what I know and I could probably do it pretty decently as it’s nearly consumed me. I could write about you. It would be my version of you but everything we write is our own version of someone. We can only get as close a representation of who we’re writing about that they let us see. So I’ll write about you and what I see from you.
I thought for a while now that would be the best thing I could do. I started out thinking a book of poetry completely devoted to you, and I still love that idea. The start, the finish and everywhere in between. There are enough ideas and emotions to last for a few minutes at least. But then I thought a story would be better. The poetry could come but a story would be better.
So for you, my muse, I’ll get another story going. The other one I’ll finish some day but that was for you and now it doesn’t seem to matter as much that we aren’t talking. This one will be for me though. It will be therapy, treatment and practice. You can keep being my muse without ever realizing it. You never had to do anything before you just were and the words came. You were the best, too.