Wednesday, November 25, 2020
Every now and then Diana Wallace Peach talks about her muse. In fact, she has more than one. She gets other authors talking about their muses. I listen, mystified. Apparently most authors have a muse — or several. Then I usually respond with the complaint that I don’t seem to have a muse. Actually that could explain some of my problems… but I digress.
Diana has invited everyone to share a conversation with their muse. I was instantly befuddled. However, Diana replied, “Don’t have a muse? Just open the door and see who shows up.”
Well, I already had a post scheduled for today. Plus, it’s dark outside and I wasn’t about to open that door… But then I heard a soft sort of scraping sound, just outside…
Dry, rustling accompanied the movement of huge leathery wings. A long claw tapped at the window of the door. Tentacles moved subtly, inviting me to open the door. I shook my head. My feet declined to listen to my brain, which told them to run.
“How can you be my muse. How could you be anyone’s muse?” I demanded from my side of the firmly closed door.
“Of course I’m your muse,” his dry voice whispered. “Why do you think so many of your novels torture you? I am the burden of the stories that are seared into your soul. You will write them. You will. Else I will never stop tormenting you.”
“If you want those stories finished, then it would be helpful if you sent a muse who had a more appealing, or at least friendly, form,” I replied as the odor began to seep around the edges of the door.
“I am what I am,” he rasped. “And now I am also the reminder not to forget the novel that only yesterday you gave yourself permission to put on the shelf… for a break,” he added with a sneer.
At least it sounded like a sneer. It was impossible to tell with that hideous tentacle covered maw that served as its mouth.
“All right!” I yelled at the huge Lovecraftian monster that claimed to be my muse. “If it’s any consolation to you, “Dead of Winter” is finally coming — after ten years. Winter is coming! Does that make you happy? Winter is coming!”
“Ahhh… So it is. That is a start,” he rasped, turning to glide away. “But it is not enough.”
“Okay. I won’t forget the other one. Or any of the others. How could I?” I shouted to its back.
A dry chuckle reached my ears as it disappeared into the night.
In the USA, Thanksgiving Day is near. Whether you’re celebrating or just being grateful on your own, please be safe. I care about you.
Hugs on the wing!
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright ©2020 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene
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