My Muse

It used to be that my muse changed according to the book I wrote. It would cover what book genre I read, movies I’d watch, even to how I’d feel inside.

Once I started writing the witches, Fluff and Puff, my fangy bunny slippers tended to whisper in my ear more and more. They claimed they were relaying what the witches had to say, but I think sometimes they were more into making sure they showed up on a regular basis. Shy and humble are not words in their vocabulary.

My muse likes to work in visuals. 3D movies inside my brain seem to be the norm lately. Sometimes Fluff and Puff are the guides, sometimes a future witch shows up to say “let’s discuss my story, shall we?”

But I need to work on the present book, not a future one! That muse is there, an arrogant Persian cat named Cleo, short for Cleopatra … yes, THAT Cleopatra. At least, that’s her story. And she doesn’t whisper in my ear, she speaks loud and clear, wanting to make sure I hear every word.

Perhaps that’s why cats are showing up at the house. They sense Cleo’s lure.

A muse is helpful. They tell us things we might not think of. We have someone to blame if it doesn’t go right. ‘I just did what my muse said to do.’

I like the idea of having a muse. Someone perched on my shoulder and giving me that much needed nudge when I need it.

Still, why can’t my muse be gorgeous and male? Am I asking too much to want that?

And what will turn up as my next muse? Will I finally get lucky and end up with a sexy male whispering all sorts of sexy suggestions in my imagination or will Fluff and Puff bound back demanding their share of chocolate and licorice root?

Tell me about your muse? You don’t have to be a writer to have one.

‘My muse told me I needed this top because it makes me look very sexy and ten pounds thinner.’

What does your muse do for you?

Linda