By Gayle Carline
I recently spent a
couple of Saturdays meeting the public and hand-selling my books. I do a few of
these gigs every year, where I have a table of books and promotional materials,
and spend several hours signing books and talking to everyone. My table
typically looks like this:
 |
| The tiara is optional. |
These guys are always
present.
 |
| Booker (l), Hatch (r) |
I bought them originally
because they are part of my first mystery, Freezer Burn. One day, someone asked
me who they were and I said, “They’re my muses. The one with the book is
Booker. He reminds me to always write well. The other one is Hatch. He says if
I don’t sit my tush down in the chair and write, he’s going to use his axe to
start chopping fingers.”
Here’s the thing: it’s a
total lie. Gnomes are not my muses.
This is my muse:
 |
| Me and Frostie (aka, One Zip in Time) |
When I was little, my
favorite activity was to take a big sheet of paper and my pencils and crayons,
and draw a picture that told a story. The drawing would start small, as a house
with a tree and a girl. Then as I told the story, more things got added, from
cities to dragons to horses to fighter jets — sue me, I had an imagination.
What my visual-arts-centric family saw was an artist.
What I see now is that I
wanted to be a storyteller.
I also loved horses, but
like storytelling, it wasn’t encouraged. Instead, I was sent down the road of
painting and "safer pets," like canaries.
Fast forward a few
(okay, a lot of) years. The storytelling bug was nipping at my heels, so I told
my hubby I might want to write. He bought me a laptop. I started many, many,
MANY stories.
I finished the Christmas
letter.
Fast forward a few more
(this time I’m serious) years. Hubby knew I’ve always wanted to learn to ride
a horse, so he bought me horseback riding lessons. I took lessons for about six
months, started showing my trainer’s champion trail horse, then a year later
purchased the sweetie in the picture above.
When I bought her, a
lock was broken in my spirit and I started writing. I began with articles that
ended up getting me a paying gig with Riding Magazine. With that boost in
confidence, I asked for a column in my local newspaper. After I got that, I
started writing fiction.
Getting to know my
little red mare has taught me about myself. She can be spooky (we tease that
she sees dead people), and knowing I can calm a 1,000-lb animal has given me
confidence. When I first started riding her, I admit I was frightened, but it taught me that I was too stubborn to quit. Standing in the arena with her, letting her
rest her head against my arm, I learned how to let my mind alone and be in the
moment.
It is a simple thing to
say, but perhaps a difficult thing to understand. A horse enabled me to write.
SO...
Who is your muse, and
what do they give you?
