The muse is a wonderfully mysterious entity that visits you in random time and space. Inspiration comes to us all differently, in a variety of creative ways. Sometimes the muse visits me at strange hours of the night or for long months without end. Lately, however, my usually constant literary muse hasn’t been seen in quite a while. That was, until a particularly cold morning in October 2008…
The lingering darkness of a Fall morning clung to the city streets as I made my way to a volunteer interview for the Olympic Games. I had no idea what kind of job I would be doing; I have a fairly diverse skill set so I knew I could end up in any number of roles. Frankly, I wasn’t entirely concerned as long as I was helping to aid a very small part of the giant Olympic machine. In preparation for the interview, I had browsed the 2010 website for the list of positions available: everything thing from anti-doping athlete escorts to “hill slippers” who inspect and repair icy ski runs after each athlete has passed through (this is apparently the most dangerous job of the games due to the highest accident rate. Yikes!)
As I signed in at a now VANOC venue that I had always known as a PNE building, I noticed a blue dot beside my name. No one else had a blue dot; I wondered what it meant. After an ID and security check, I was seated in a room with 20 other prospective volunteers. About 80% of the people in the room had on patterned Bill Cosby sweaters and appeared to be retired. I was suddenly aware of how much time this volunteer gig may demand of me and hoped it would somehow be worth it to take 2 weeks off work to support an arguably controversial event.
To get the day rolling, they showed us an incredible Olympic montage that was meant to inspire our reasons for volunteering. It was fantastic! It showcased Canadian athletes, Vancouver, Canada and the Olympic world. It gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside to know that I was giving my time to support my country, along with the best winter sport athletes on the planet. Somehow I knew I was doing the right thing and up so early on a Sunday morning for an important reason.
Next up came the interview and I was approached by a lovely brunette woman with classic Human Resources bangs. I liked her immediately. She explained what the blue dot meant I was identified as a potential writer for a daily newsletter published by each venue. The excitement welled up inside as I started envisioning myself writing feel-good stories about an Olympic venue and the volunteers who keep it running.
The interviewer then began asking me a series of writer experience / writer training related questions. I suddenly realised that even though I love to write, have been doing it for about 25 years, and would gladly do it for free, I lacked formal experience beyond the business reports and training manuals I have written in my job. I found myself spinning executive level strategic business reviews and academic undergraduate degree papers as solid writing experience. I even pulled out the “Young Writers of Canada” recognition I won when I was 8 years old. Yup, I was digging deep for this one.
Next she handed me a paper and pencil and told me I had 20 minutes to write a 300 word essay on the Olympic experience for the athletes. I broke into a light sweat missing the MS spell check, but relaxed into just jotting down what I felt inside my head and heart.
After a few more hours of basic info training, I was sent home with a "don't call us, we'll call you" message lingering in my mind.
It was later in the evening that I clearly realized something new about myself: The reason I write my own stories is because I need an outlet to make sense of the chaos in my mind. If I’m feeling darkness creeping up inside me, I let it out through words on paper. Somehow turning my emotions into something tangible makes them real and forces me to deal with things and get over them. So far in my life, I’ve written one autobiographical book, a poetry book, countless creative writing stories, and about 12 full journals (I’ve never published them officially, kind of tried once but since have gone back to my real job). However, when I met my future husband in 2007, I stopped writing altogether.
It appears that when I am happy and content, I am not inspired to write. There is no need for the outlet; my thoughts are positive, clear, and bright. When I am truly at ease and satisfied in my life, the muse lies dormant. The only thing has even tempted my muse in the past 2 years has been my father’s brain cancer diagnosis. Even then, as he has begun to get better, I no longer crave a keyboard or notebook to make sense of what is happening in my world.
Somehow after the interview, I sensed a paradigm shift in my writing energy and my ever evolving muse. I’m shifting away from writing about myself and moving towards writing about the experiences of the people around me. It feels somehow greater than a simple shift from first to third person. I have thought a lot about wiring a book about other women’s stories, I know so many interesting and amazing women, but it has only been a seed of thought that had yet to sprout. Maybe the Olympics are going to be the catalyst to launch me into a new realm of written expression. I don’t mean as a career, I already have one of those, but I mean as an inspiration to keep writing and sharing meaningful stories with the world.
Update: After over a year of waiting, I was finally notified that I have been accepted as a part of the Workforce Communications crew for the games! I will be stationed at the curling venue for a total of 13 shifts and tasked with writing a daily newsletter for the volunteers. The newsletter will be about the venue, the volunteers, and important info that needs to be communicated. I have never really watched curling before as sport, I was always into the ice skating or hockey. However, suddenly I feel I have a new favourite sport!
