As a writer, the only thing that separates us from so-called normal people is that thin membrane called: the imagination. Our ability to imagine is our power source. We each have our respective muses, which can appear as people, places or things. Sports teams, actors, even animals can inspire us in ways that have nothing to do with logic.
It’s not a thought. It’s a sense, kind of like falling in love. It can only be felt. For me, my muse is James Dean. I don’t know why I chose him or why he chose me, but that’s just the way it is. As a young child, I saw EAST OF EDEN and was riveted by his raw, emotional style. He was able to capture and express those untapped feelings inside of me: isolation, rage, and wonder.
He somehow encourages me to go further. That’s essentially what a muse does. I suppose some people might define a muse as a guardian angel, but that’s not quite how I see it. For a writer (and I’m positive it works in a similar fashion for other artists) receiving a dose of inspiration is like a cup of water in a drought.