Writing is a passionate obsession, and it is not always easy living with one.
It can be difficult living intimately with a writer, being married to one, and perhaps even more so to a poet, dreamy and often solitary by nature, and needing the mental freedom to use their artistic abilities in whatever ways the creative mind may venture, and the mind of a creative does venture.
Words written are sometimes misconstrued by the partner. Misconstrued as fact or desire or something about them or not about them. Fiction mistaken for truth; the poet merely stretching her imagination and being whisked away by an idea that began bursting in her head.
Poets’ muses can be as simple as a funny shaped cloud or they can be as complicated as a suicidal schizophrenic. A wordsmith has to start from something, so she captures ideas, objects, conversations, experiences, stories; it can’t be helped, a poet’s blessing, a poet’s curse, but she must give flight to the incurable itch, the stories growing on her bones. To do anything less is confinement for an artist.
Poets may travel back in time or make-believe a time. They may use an experience from childhood or a story they read may become an inspiration for a poem about misfits, friendships, lovers, animals, seasons, the moon, strength, anything.
Current events may strike a chord in a poet’s empathetic and sometimes rebellious heart, something said may trigger a soulful piece of prose. Careful what you say, it may become an idea for an ode, a sonnet, or a riveting poem. Anyone and anything can become a poet’s muse.
When you are in a relationship with a wordsmith, their ideas, their words, their poems may get interpreted as something they are not. Although there is a reality in poetry, a large component is fantasy, mere imagination.
The whole point of the poet, the writer, is to express his creative ability, to stretch his imaginative wings, and find a voice for that thought that began as a mere spark.