Chapter 1: The Muse and Creative Process

The concept of the Muse is often romanticized in literary circles, but it’s important to recognize that the Muse won't write your story for you.

One notable tale involves the author Jack Kerouac, who purportedly penned his iconic novel, On the Road, in a mere three weeks. Legend suggests that the Beat poet fueled his writing with copious caffeine and Benzedrine, crafting a continuous 120-foot-long scroll by taping sheets of typewriter paper together. This innovative approach allowed him to maintain his writing momentum without the disruption of changing pages. I can vividly picture him, lost in a whirlwind of creativity, typing away late into the night, day after day.

As a writer, I can easily romanticize this image. It seems as if his masterpiece emerged effortlessly in a moment of divine inspiration. For centuries, humans have been captivated by such stories. The Ancient Greeks revered the "Muses," a group of nine goddesses believed to inspire poets, musicians, and playwrights. Writers of old often began their works with a plea for inspiration—a call to the Muse.

For instance, The Iliad opens with the invocation:

Declare, O Muse! in what ill-fated hour

Sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power

Latona's son a dire contagion spread,

And heap'd the camp with mountains of the dead;

The king of men his reverent priest defied,

And for the king's offence the people died.

Despite its ancient roots, the myth of the Muse remains relevant. While there's no scientific backing for the existence of these deities, many writers willingly suspend disbelief. Often, our most brilliant ideas seem to materialize out of thin air, as if a flash of inspiration strikes us, compelling us to capture it on paper. When reflecting on our best work, it can feel as though we weren't the ones who created it, leading some to believe that a Muse was at play.

I have experienced such transcendental moments, and they are indeed exhilarating.

However, these moments are rare, fleeting, and unpredictable. They can feel elusive and unreliable. I find myself drawn to narratives like Kerouac's because they suggest that writing could be effortless. Why push through the struggles of the writing process today if the Muse might soon arrive to take over?

"I’m not feeling inspired today," we often tell ourselves. It’s a refrain I’ve echoed for days, waiting for that surge of creativity to strike. Why toil away now when I could wait for effortless inspiration to come?

Chapter 2: The Reality of Writing

In truth, while Kerouac did complete a draft of On the Road in just three weeks during the spring of 1951, this was merely a draft. He had produced several earlier versions before arriving at "the scroll," as it’s famously known. The novel serves as a travelogue chronicling Kerouac's youthful adventures, narrated by a fictionalized version of himself, Sal Paradise. Between 1947 and 1950, Kerouac explored extensively across the United States and into Mexico, often alongside Neal Cassady, who inspired the character Dean Moriarty in the novel. His initial drafts of On the Road were scribbled in notebooks during these journeys.

Kerouac crafted his first complete draft in 1948, but he deemed it lackluster—too sterile, devoid of voice and vitality. Believing that both his travels and the book were unfinished, he shelved it to embark on more adventures.

In 1950, propelled by a 10,000-word stream-of-consciousness letter from Cassady, Kerouac began to experiment with what he termed "spontaneous prose." He viewed writing as a jazz-like endeavor—fluid, genuine, and improvisational. Thus, he sat down to rewrite On the Road as if composing a long letter to a friend, resulting in the celebrated scroll.

Kerouac's spontaneous prose gives the novel a uniquely immersive quality, reminiscent of catching up with an exuberant friend recounting their travels. While some may find it overwhelming, many readers cherish this raw, unfiltered style. Each time I revisit the book, I visualize Kerouac at his typewriter, pouring his thoughts directly onto the page—his prose feels effortless, much like the legend suggests.

However, this scroll was not the definitive draft. Kerouac spent the following six years revising and refining the manuscript. He even composed one version in French, his first language. Time and again, he believed he had completed the book, only to face rejection from over a hundred literary agents and publishers before its eventual release on September 5, 1957.

The narrative of Kerouac’s three frenetic weeks of writing On the Road has become mythologized among writers—a compelling and romantic tale. Yet, it is precisely that: a myth.

We often overlook the years of real-life experiences that shaped the book and the numerous discarded drafts that cluttered Kerouac's workspace. We conveniently forget that "the scroll" was just one iteration among many and that the manuscript faced countless rejections before finally being published.

A wise saying suggests that we should never let the truth disrupt a captivating story.

Reflecting on the myth of the Muse, it too is an enchanting narrative. The tale of Kerouac's writing process serves as a modern retelling of this ancient concept. There’s a certain comfort in believing that a higher creative force will soon descend and inspire the next Great American Novel. We merely need to wait for her arrival—if only she wouldn’t be so tardy.

As Stephen King articulated in On Writing, "There is a muse, but he's not going to come fluttering down to your writing room and scatter creative fairy-dust all over your typewriter or computer station."

I remain skeptical about the existence of a Muse. However, I concur with King’s assertion. If a Muse does exist, she is not a whimsical deity poised to craft our work. Instead, I perceive the Muse as a metaphor for the subconscious mind. Those moments of inspiration we attribute to her are likely the result of our unconscious mind processing ideas until they surface into our awareness. These flashes of creativity typically emerge after I’ve engaged in the arduous work of researching, drafting, and reflecting on my experiences.

The Muse may occasionally provide a gentle nudge in the right direction, but she will not write for you. The journey of creativity is one you must undertake alone, and perhaps, you might just discover her along the way.

Note: This piece was also featured in my newsletter, Miscellanea.