Muse-ical Mishmash

“No, Love, yeh can’ wrie-that!”

What?

“That bid abou’ ‘ow sad yer life is. I mean, people ken only take so much abou’ yeh ea’in’ yer toffee in the closet.”

I sit back, stuck. But, I felt inspired to write because I felt depressed. Wasn’t that-

“No, Love. T’ain’t ‘inspired’ – leastaways, not by me.”

Huh. Well… I had another epiphany, back when

Definitely not.” Harumph. “We’ll not be bringing politics out again.

But

“No ‘buts’ about it, young lady. No self-respecting writer would name a rant as ‘inspiration,’ either.”

I face another dead end as my cursor blinks in an empty page. What else can I write? Maybe poetry?

“Shtop rright therrre!”

But I only just

“I-yuh know what you thought to do, and I’ll have none of it! Poetrrry must flow frrom an experrienced poet, one bending a keen earh to catch everry whisperh Naturre drrips like rrainwaterh!”

My cursor-blink fades to a black screensaver. What next? I consider artifical inspiration, then recall the disastrous consequences the last time I attempted that. I certainly did not need a Dionysus-like ghost to join the growing crowd in my mind; I’d crack for good. There was only one option left.

“no.”

Excuse me? What? I feel a slight tingle, perhaps near my hippocampus.

“no. don’t. don’t give up. “

Who said that? I can barely hear you. I can’t even see you!

“i’m barely here, but i am here.”

Where? Who?

“way back here. i am your muse.”

Are you sure? You’re different than I expected. I mean, you don’t even have completely proper grammar- Wait! Don’t go!

“i’m sorry. so tired. but i am here; i am just not able to do much. yet.”

I feel panic. Well, what -what can I do, then? I obviously can’t write anything good without you! I can’t get anywhere near publishing!

“you’re fine and you know it. just keep trying. when you have more time, i’ll be ready. …readier.”

Wait! I -I didn’t even know you existed! And what do you mean about “more time?” How long? What should I do if I shouldn’t give up?

“few… years… more time… just… keep… writing…”

The tingle’s nearly gone. Wait! One more thing!

“yes?”

Who are all those others? Are they relatives of yours?

*sigh* “poseurs. don’t listen to them …unless it’s about politics. …or romance; you cannot write romance. au -au revoir.”

I’m alone -more alone. For a few minutes, I stare back at myself in the empty screen.

Oh, all right. I take a deep breath, tap a key to wake the computer, and start writing.

Photo by George Shervashidze on Pexels.com

Β©2020 Chel Owens

For Diana, who has a much more intimidating muse. Sorry I’m late.

63 thoughts on “Muse-ical Mishmash

  1. I love this, Chelsea. What a fun piece of writing. Dare I suggest that your muse is hanging around? You’re late, but do I care, NOT. I’ll reblog your post and another straggler on Tuesday. This is a great post to finish up the series. Thank you!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Are muses internal?

    It’s interesting how others write. For me, it’s like Dr. Frankenstein employing body-snatchers ranging far and wide to service him with bits and bobs – especially bob’s; poor old bob!

    Great work, Chel.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Muses are elusive. They appear over your shoulder and whisper into your ear when you least expect it.

    But, if they start walking off with the contents of your liquor cabinet, they are more likely burglars or friends of the family.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Ah… exposing the muse. Just write. That’s the ticket though. Even if it is a conversation about not giving up!! You may not always like what you do write. But that doesn’t matter, because every word on the page is one more you don’t have to keep inside or try to memorize. πŸ˜€

    Liked by 1 person

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