I don’t like normal muses. I’m not inspired by flawless beauty or a record heavy with wild successes. Convention is a hindrance. I look to the obscure, the weird, the disenfranchised for daily sustenance. I love passion, prickliness, commitment, awkwardness, individuality. A willingness to fall hard on a big stage or the refusal to walk on to it at all, to not shut up when it’s convenient, to live close to the bone and heart and brain. Dead Writers, mostly, but also artists, photographers, performers, activists, life-livers, non-conformists, survivors. The majority are women but, being a feminist, men are definitely not excluded. It’s a personal list-and very, very long-but inclusive. My magpie tastes couldn’t have it any other way. Continue reading →