Musing about my Muse

As I pounded my head on the desk last night in search of something terribly witty and terrific to share, I discovered two things:

  1. Banging one’s head on the desk is not the greatest ways of solving problems, and
  2. My personal muse had officially deserted me for the evening.

He’s probably off for a drink somewhere.  Between the two of us he has to drink my share, I don’t touch the stuff.  He probably thinks I’m going to have it in for him first thing in the morning, Monday mornings tend to be overly productive around here.  I haven’t the heart to tell him that I’m on a literary vacation of sorts.  I plan to return to revisions and writing in  January, after my December hiatus.  If he knows that, I fear he might head out on an early Spring break and return permanently changed, if he returns at all.

My muse? He’s the invisible fellow who sits on the top of the shelf above my desk and speaks with an insufferable condescending yet charming English accent.  The relationship normally works well, he’ll blow imaginary smoke rings in my face if I get too serious and I berate him for letting my story arc go astray.  When he’s fully fueled we run along, zipping one liners at each other and congratulating ourselves on our wit and brilliance.   When he’s running low he’ll curl up in the fetal position and rock for hours.  He can do that all he likes as long as he doesn’t moan or blubber to himself.  At times like those I get no work done at all.

He doesn’t mind my bizarre work schedule, I usually need him at the most unusual times of day.  First thing in the morning, late evening, and whenever the kids are distracted enough not to notice me sneaking to my workstation.  I often have to cut him off mid-thought to deal with kid-related business.  It would be useful if he would remember what we were working on when I return, at times hours later.  But he has a mind that wanders, and no matter how many notes I leave him the moment is gone, replaced with a different colored stream of ideas.

It’s taken ages perfecting our relationship and now I feel that we can start creating some pretty amazing things together.

So, please don’t tell him I’m on a mini vacation.  I couldn’t bear having to train a replacement.

About Jodi

Jodi L. Milner is a writer, mandala enthusiast, and educator. Her epic fantasy novel, Stonebearer’s Betrayal, was published in November 2018 and rereleased in Jan 2020. She has been published in several anthologies. When not writing, she can be found folding children and feeding the laundry, occasionally in that order.
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12 Responses to Musing about my Muse

  1. I think I saw your muse out this way. He was loaded down with wrapped packages. I wonder what that bodes for you?

  2. I love my muse, he is my boy and he’s always here, even if I am not writing. He’s nice like that. He is waiting until I snap out of whatever latest writer’s block I’ve stumbled into. At least I know he’ll be there waiting for me until I’m ready and I’m sure yours will too.

  3. My dear, DEAR, Jodi:

    So, sorry, but I read your blog this morning, so I have learned of your December literary hiatus. Tut-tut! Whatever made you think you could keep such a thing from me? Consequently, I am taking a hiatus of my own. You will have me about next, when I am about, so quit pounding your head.

    So, with my insufferable – yet charming – British accent, I wish you good luck! Cheerio! Pip Pip! And all that rot. . .

    Archie – your muse

    • tsuchigari says:

      Dearest Archie –
      You know about my bizarre habits, this can be chalked up as another of them. I still need you so don’t go too far. I expect you to be at work first thing in the morning Monday January 3rd. Say Hi to Margaret while you’re out.

  4. My muse is a little red robin who sometimes disappears for days but then usually brings back wonderfully outrageous ideas and ‘musings’.
    What special worlds we writers inhabit.

  5. oldancestor says:

    Mine is a shadow phantom who cannot be seen when viewed straight on. Sometimes I catch a glimpse, and he’s tall, with no face. One day I hope to slay him and find another who is less cruel.

  6. nrhatch says:

    Great amusing muses, Jodi!

    BTW: I wrote about head banging today too!

    “While we sometimes feel as if we are beating our head against a brick wall when we write, lugers whistling down the 4,757-foot concrete track at the Whistler Sliding Centre literally risk slamming into brick walls and concrete pillars.”

    Starts putting things in perspective, doesn’t it?

    Enjoy your hiatus. 🙂

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