God save the muse-driven

I guess us creatives have a problem with conceit.

Though I'm not entirely convinced. I look at many poets-- Mary Oliver and Naomi Shihab Nye-- who make a point of caring for humanity in their work.

And I think on my own: the majority of my poetry captures the passion I have felt in my life, on a one-on-one level. I write about the things that have changed me, the things I wonder about, the ideas just outside my window, and the world I never want to trap within myself.

And I know my emails are like that, too: writing is a salve. Of course! So I do write about myself when I send my words out into the world, as poetry or as email.

And earlier this week, I was accused of being fixated on myself. CLEARLY fixated, particularly in the last few months, I was told. And how selfish of me to expect someone else to write back when she just didn't have the time and energy to acknowledge my emails (some of them responses to her blog; I thought that was a fair effort on my part to show I was reading up on her and actually gave a damn). She also didn't have the energy or motivation to call (but neither did I, as I much prefer email).

Consequently, I've dissolved that relationship, and feel much better.

But I've begun to think (again): where's the problem? I do not believe "the problem" is wholly owned by myself. The muse-driven can be incredibly one-minded, and maybe only truly appreciated by their admirers and family.

Maybe friends aren't the best thing for creative types, unless those friends can understand and tolerate and accept what it is to be creative.

I also have a habit of shooting from the hip when it comes to people I consider pretty close. This has, to my knowledge, only hurt the feelings of two people. When someone is acting or doing something that I think is daft-- harmful to themselves; obsessive; counter-productive, I tend to tell them.

Maybe I ought to put it into verse and keep it under wraps.