Lately I’m reading a lot about authors losing their muse…. the very thing that inspires them to write. This had me thinking. Do I even have a muse? I look at writing as I either have it that day or I don’t.
After giving this a little more thought, I realized that way of thinking keeps the blame of an off-day on me.
Screw that when I can blame my lost Muse.
I have enough crap to deal with in life; I don’t want my lack of inspiration to fall squarely on my shoulders too. I’ll blame the Muse. That’s when I decided that I need an actual Muse… a something to pass the blame on to.
Talk about a perfect solutions. All my shortcomings in a day will fall on the Muse’s watch, while I come out smelling like a rose. No writing done today…blame the muse. My house is filthy, blame the messy Muse. Dinner not made… blame the lazy muse.
That’s right… My Muse is a little bitch.
First I needed something tangible. A muse I could look in the eye, so to speak, when I shifted blame from my blank imagination to it.
We were blessed with unseasonably warm October weather last week, so I took my writing to the beach. I sat for hours a day, writing, writing and writing, in different colored gel pens. The writing was going well, but I knew I needed to keep my Muse in my pocket when inspiration ran dry.
First I thought my Muse could be a Seagull that befriended me. I quickly dismissed the idea when I realized he was only using me for the food I brought along and one of his friends christened me from the air with a giant bird crap bomb. Besides, Look at this bird’s beady little eyes…clearly he had murder on his mind.
Then I saw it, laying down right next to me. My Muse…Shelly. (Cue the angels singing). Fabulous isn’t she?
So there you go…problem solved. Whenever I lose my inspiration, I’ll blame it on my pocket sized Muse, Shelly, until I get it back.