Ronnie B, Musings on a Muse: Part 2

“Ruin in Winter” by Ronnie Goodwin

[Editor’s note: this is the last in a two-part series which began yesterday.]

I have written many stories using Ronnie’s images as a starting point. One of the most fun has been an ongoing journal written by a character named Ruth, who goes on a journey to find the locations of many of Ronnie’s pictures. The journal has been so much fun to write, and the progress of this main character amuses and amazes me.

Another story I am still working on comes from Ronnie’s work, “Ruin in Winter,” a nearly all white image with just the faintest outline of a house, a tree, and the road that goes between and disappears. The viewer is caught between the snow on the ground and the fog and mist in the air, a near total white out.

I call my story The Disappearing Season. All that whiteness was such a wealth of inspiration. This story centers around the inhabitants of a small town on a little island in Scotland. Every year people wait until the very conditions shown in the photo occur in late February, what is locally known as The Disappearing Season.

The ill, or old, or deeply depressed terminally ill decide it is time to leave this world and walk down the road and just disappear. They choose when they are ready and simply walk through the mist and snow down the endless road. No one who wants to cross over ever walks through the other side of the road. Teenage boys are always trying to jump through but are promptly spit back out on the other side of the road, no memory of the drive. To my surprise and delight many characters have come forward, filling out, and becoming an important part of the fabric. I can no longer look at this image without seeing the ghosts of those who have already disappeared. I just love this story and equally love the image that brought this story forward.

Would I have found something else to inspire me? I am not sure. But I do think that this awesome universe often arranges things in a wonderful chaotic order, bringing people and situations into our lives exactly when we need them most. I am grateful to Ronnie for his talent and vision and the way he allows himself to be accessible. I am thankful for Stephen Walker for posting that little tweet. I am sure Stephen has no idea what those few words unleashed. But that is how it often works. We never know what we say or do that can affect someone else.

Ronnie’s work is the pebble being dropped into the pond and I am constantly amazed at the ripples created for me.

I have written many things over the past few of years: stories about fairies and trinket keepers and poems about a famous beard, my love of a Jaguar car, things that go bump in the night, of love and loss, heart break, and redemption. But if I find myself lacking inspiration I will go back to Ronnie’s work. It seems only right I should say this now: Thank you, Ronnie, for your gift and all it has meant to me. Your work was the lifeline when I needed to remember how to be a writer.

Is Ronnie my muse? His work certainly is and of course since he is the artist of these magnificent works of art, he must be as well. But not the kind of muse to be held on a pedestal.

Ronnie’s work is alive and always changing. That movement and flow is astonishing.

Over the past couple of years, I have had a chance to get to know Ronnie at bit. He is a lovely man, very open and available to his fans. His talent is wider and deeper than photography. Ronnie is also an award-winning filmmaker. I am very grateful to call him my friend.

I am now a butterfly, learning to fly, and trusting my words will just be there when I am inspired to create. I see the world as a writer does. Always seeing questions, always seeking an answer, and creating worlds with words.

Here is the link to Ronnie’s work. Take a look. I will be surprised if you don’t find something to amaze you.

How are you inspired? I would love for you to share.

With love and light,

Anna O’Keefe

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