my morning reading

the war of art, if you recall, is among THE no-nonsense books for creatives.  in it, writer Steven Pressfield systematically sets each of your excuses on fire. 

despite his gruff, coach-like exterior, he recites the following poem before beginning work each morning:

O Divine Poesy, goddess, daughter of Zeus, sustain for me this song of the various-minded man who, after he had plundered the innermost citadel of hallowed Troy, was made to stay grievously about the coasts of men, the sport of their customs, good and bad, while his heart, through all the sea-faring, ached with an agony to redeem himself and bring his company safe home.

Vain hope – for them. The fools! Their own witlessness cast them aside. To destroy for meat the oxen of the most exalted Sun, wherefore the Sun-god blotted out the day of their return. Make this tale live for us in all its many bearings, O Muse

it’s the invocation of the muse from Homer’s Odyssey, T.E. Lawrence (of Arabia!) translation.

i made reading it aloud part of my morning and i’ve gotta say, no complaints.  it certainly isn’t hurting anything.  pressfield's onto something.   give it a try.