The muse showed up last night. It's been a long time since I've seen her. She spent most of the evening kicking the couch and chasing out the dust bunnies in my head. I really wish she would get to work and focus on the project at hand. Instead she kept waking me up after I tried to go to sleep.
Hey, look at this. It's shiny. Don't you want to keep it? I think you should keep it. Here, why don't you write it down. Write it down now. Why aren't you writing this down?
Sigh. Then I flip open one of the book lights on my end table, grab the pen and pad I keep there, and write it down. Usually there are more lines waiting to come tumbling out once I get those first ones down. It's like mental constipation, once the first one flows the rest of it all wants to come tumbling out right after.
She can be that way. I really wish she would come together while I was sitting in front of the computer screen. Instead she kept getting me up last night. Three times before she would let me go to sleep. And then there was a line in my head when I woke up at 4am.
Wrote it down, got up to go pee, then went back to sleep.
Very tired this morning. We must have had conversations while I was sleeping. Maybe it was more like dancing. I don't feel very rested.
This is the flip side to having a muse. Sure, many writers deny they exist. Some of them long to have them. To some of us they're our own personal 3 year-olds who constantly want another drink of water. Won't we let them just watch a little TV. Can we check and make sure there's no monsters under the bed. Close the closet door so the monsters in there can't get out.
I missed her. I'm glad she came back. Welcome home, pumpkin. Don't go away for so long anymore, okay?
2 comments:
Tell her if she sees mine around: I'm sorry, I miss her, let's not ever argue again and please come home by Christmas.
Eric, I will. But you see how much mine listens to me.
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