I think of my inner artist (a.k.a. The Muse) like my child self, clinging to playtime and the wants of the now, finding wonder in the mundane, loving to gab with friends both solid and ephemeral.
And slowly maturing.
As kids are want to do, my inner artist has grown in the time we've spent playing together. I can see her progress in the way I word a paragraph, in the expansion of my palette of favorite colors, in her acceptance of new methods of play.
The most notable difference, at least for me, is in her requirements concerning structure.
Anyone familiar with my blog knows about the vague outline and its use as my structural method of choice. It chronicles every major step and some of the smaller ones scribbled down in the most direct of details. At first, and for a long time after, it was freeing to know exactly what turn to take next.
Not so much anymore.
Now it feels like a staunch rulebook meant to nosh all the creativity out of the process. So, after being a companion for years, I'm forced to retire the vague outline.
The only hangup is in finding its replacement...