My muse has become a fleeting, emaciated little thing in the past few months. Vaporous and free formed. I barely get a whisper as it flits through a room and then disappears like a wisp of smoke.
I really wish it were a three hundred pound guy squatting on my shoulder. Strappy wife beater tee shirt, stanky cigar stub, plumbers crack and all. Nudging me every few minutes to check on my progress.
How's your muse shaping up?
Words, wOrds, WoRDS
1 week ago
11 comments:
It's been so long since I've seen my muse that I've actually forgotten what she looks like. I'm hoping she's back from her extended vacation soon.
Bwah ha ha ha!! That's fantastic. Scary as all get out, but still fantastic!
My muse is a bulimic thing. Pigging out one day and puking up nothing the next.
I think she needs a clinic.
What you need to do is set out some muse bait, Haleine. I have the recipe riht here(as seen on TV). And it can be all yours for only ten easy installments of $79.95!
Ha!! I'll send mine to the clinic with yours, Vicki. She's so thin I'm starting to really worry. Yesterday she came in the room without even opening the door. She just slipped right under it.
OMG, where did you find that?! The horror!
My muse is waiting patiently on the bottom line of my WIP, trapped until I open the document.
Sometimes I just ... really worry about you.
Dang, Natalie, you're lucky. I wish I could get mine to wait like that. What kind of trap do you use?
Haaaaaa! Sue!!! Your comment made me laugh out loud. Thanks for your concern!
Honey. It makes her stick really well to the computer.
Hm, that's funny, I said her. But the manifestations of my muse are actually a carved wooden frog named Fred and a resin Merlin holding a staff and a handful of flames (one's for non-paranormal, one's for paranormal). They're both male. Huh.
Actually, I guess the muse stays put when I stop work knowing what's coming next, because I may feel like I don't know, but as soon as I open the document and start reading, I start writing.
On this book, anyway.
You need to give lessons on training your muse, Natalie!
Step one: Write for 17 years...
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