Early this year, I took a novel-writing course from an author named Kathy Hepinstall. I learned about the course from my friend Aaron, who is friends with Kathy and worked with her in advertising. Later in her career, Kathy switched focus from the soul-erosion of storyselling to the restoration of storytelling. This is a list of her novels, and you can find some of Kathy’s writing on her blog.
Kathy’s course was DIY and hilarious and based on an unreleased book she wrote about writing titled Your Brain is a Horse Named Clyde. Clyde is Kathy’s muse. He is a racehorse who lives in her mind, and when Kathy wants to write a novel, she coaxes Clyde out from his stall with adoration and carrots and encouragement. Then Clyde runs.
To illustrate Clyde’s might, Kathy showed the class a clip from ESPN Classic about Secretariat’s Triple Crown win at the Belmont Stakes in 1973.
Man, that clip makes me feel.
“It was like the Lord was holding the reins. Secretariat was one of His creatures and He maybe whispered to him a ‘Go’ and that horse really went. It was almost a supernatural experience.”
Kathy called us to find our own Clyde, and I was stumped for a while. My search for a muse is complicated because it’s my understanding as a Christian that the Holy Spirit is the source of all beauty and creativity and good. Would ascribing my creativity to a muse mean settling for something less than the Creator? That’s the essence of idolatry. I emailed Kathy about my conundrum.
This is one of the best questions I’ve ever gotten about muses.
My life, my purpose, my cells, my friend, my everything, is God.
…
I love Clyde and he loves me. But God is first.
This eased some of my concerns, but I still didn’t know my muse. I thought about river otters and hummingbirds because I feel deep affection for both, but they didn’t resonate. In my search, there were two clues Kathy mentioned which stood out to me:
A previous student whose muse was a younger version of himself.
That footage of Secretariat absolutely decimating the fastest racehorses alive.
That’s when Jordan Green came to mind. Not me, though. By Jordan Green, I mean the fantasy version of me I’ve imagined since I was a 10 year old shooting hoops in our driveway.1 That Jordan Green starred at power forward alongside Dikembe Mutombo, Glen Rice, Bo Kimble, and Gary Payton in the most unstoppable Trail Blazers roster ever to lace up Nikes. That Jordan Green is pictured above, guarding Horace Grant.
I rejected this muse at first because it seemed narcissistic. I believe all artists are tempted to think the source of creativity is internal. So I want to be clear Jordan Green is not me. I call him JG (pronounced “jage” in an homage to Tenacious D) for short. JG is a foot taller with thick, wild hair and shoulders broad as an avenue. He has the soft touch and post skills of ‘Sheed, the court vision of Bird, the spring of a young MJ, and the deep range and weirdness of Klay Thompson. He is the all-time leader in points and rebounds and second all-time in assists, steals, and blocks (behind his teammates). He is always clutch and graceful, ever joyous and unselfish.
I couldn’t shake him, not even with self-directed shame, and I now believe there’s a reason I’ve imagined JG for 30 years running. Maybe he’s me in some future form, a preview of what will emerge from this current earthly chrysalis when my life is finished. Or maybe JG is a guardian angel or the Holy Spirit in an image God-tailored to my understanding.
The theology’s over my head, but what I know right now is JG helps. Like many artists, I have a tendency to flog and criticize my internal Clyde around the track. But one lesson I’m learning this year—both through Kathy’s course and Amherst writing groups—is to love and honor the aspects of myself which long to create.
Now, even if I put down a few simple sentences, I tell JG he was brilliant out there. I imagine him banking an off-balanced fadeaway off the glass, the ball dropping through the net, the crowds going wild for the gamewinner. And wouldn't you know? The more I cheer for JG and thank God for whoever he is, the more I love my work and the easier writing becomes.
During quarantine, street ball out front of our house became my primary mode of exercise and I still imagine myself as JG with that same unstoppable roster.
I've also not considered having a muse. I have felt this desire to be inspired in general, but inspiration has come from many directions. I'll have to sit with this for a bit. Thanks for sharing this post again, Jordan!
Hmmmmm... Thank you. I wonder who my muse would be. This is a good thing to consider. Thanks for the example.