Who are Your Muses?

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!

These are the opening lines of Shakespeare’s play Henry V. Here Shakespeare calls upon a Muse of fire to set the stage.

I have to say, my Muses are Fire. Not necessarily because of anything I’ve produced, but because of their persistence with me. They refuse to give up, bless them! Some are from the physical world, and some are from the world beyond.

With all my distractions, including bouts of discouragement, my Muses stay with me. They guide me to my best ideas. They lead me to the right resources in the moments I need them. Most of all, they push me to keep going when the wind has gone out of my sails.

Earlier this week, I grappled with choosing a blog topic that might be useful—or at least mildly entertaining—to my readers, but nothing was coming.

That’s why I stopped in my tracks (er, scrolling) when a certain lecture popped up in my YouTube feed. It had that out-of-the blue feel to it. The algorithm had never recommended anything like this before because, well, I don’t typically watch old college lectures in my spare time.

All the same, there stood Dr. Brandie Siegfried in a smart tunic and tam o’ shanter, transporting me back to my college days. Back when I consumed a steady diet of Shakespeare and Milton and Edmund Spenser, discussions led by Brandie Siegfried. Dare I say the algorithm worked in my favor that day?

Seldom does a professor embody the sheer authority and knowledge of her subject matter more than Brandie Siegfried. To be present in one of her lectures was to be inspired. A few of us would sit in class and marvel as she’d use words like “tableau” and “interregnum” in context. (Sans cell phone, I'd jot down all the words and look them up later.)

In no way was she a poseur or pretentious. This is simply who she was to her core. A true Renaissance woman. She shared her brilliance with her students freely for their betterment, offering one-on-one attention and care. She was witty, outdoorsy, a right genius—and somehow remained relatable. She lit the lamps of so many! The world is a brighter place because of her. She has always been a Muse of mine, even if she wasn't aware of it.

During that time, I had a front-desk job at the Humanities Advisement Center. Confession: after hours, I’d take the key they’d entrusted to me, slink into the office, and type away at my work in progress. I’d lose all track of time and walk back to my apartment in darkness without another soul on campus, save security.

My work in progress was a play called The Sword of Quintelle, which I wrote in the linguistical style of Shakespeare. Quintelle, a princess warrior, defends her kingdom from villains trying to usurp her father’s crown. My inspiration of the female warrior came from the character Britomart in Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene. For me, the fruit of Brandie Siegfried’s class was that play.

I wish I would’ve been able to tell her how much she’s changed my life for the better. But two years ago, she passed away. She was only 57. I was devastated to learn this. Her funeral was livestreamed, and I was able to watch it.

How remarkable that she’s still inspiring people, even after her mortal life is complete—through the life she lived, the books she’s written, and her lectures that appear on YouTube or elsewhere.

Like Ben Johnson said of his friend Shakespeare, Brandie Siegfried was “not of an age, but for all time.”

Thank you, Dr. Siegfried.

I know that sounds like a conclusion, but when I speak of Muses, I feel I should mention these two, especially considering a conversation I had with my brother last week. (More on that in a moment.)

High School Graduation

My parents have always encouraged my writing, and, I believe, were proud of me for it.

My mom urged me to enter a few essay contests in my youth, which I ended up winning. (Stories for another day.) And my dad, among other shows of support, included a story I’d written in his personal memoir.

Even after they’ve both passed, I’ve felt their guidance and nudges from time to time.

My dad actually wrote and published a book (separate from his memoir). Sometimes I forget this, but my brother Joe reminded me when we chatted on the phone the other day. It’s a textbook and it’s still available on Amazon. He even had an agent and received an advance. Why was this not at the forefront of my mind? I’d helped him edit portions of it back in college.

“It took Dad so long to write that book,” Joe told me. “He was always saying he needed to go work on his book.”

The familiarity of those phrases brought such a moment of kinship with my dad, as well as hope, which can sometimes be in short supply.

So, to both of these Muses, Mom and Dad, I thank you.

In this land of creating and expressing our ideas and talents, we aren’t left alone. Yes, the work can be lonely and can stretch out for years, but I believe there are attentive helpers, both seen and unseen, who want us to succeed as much as we do. And if that’s the criteria, well, I have many more Muses than those three. If you’re reading this, you might be one of them.

And I thank you, too.