Poking the Muse

So, maybe it isn't writer's block but my muse sure thinks moving like molasses is the best thing ever. I attempt to coax her by brainstorming but she stays still. I nudge her a bit by playing different types of music; she stirs slightly and then flops down altogether, arms crossed over her chest and glaring at me like I told her biggest secret. (OK, my muse is most likely sexless and genderless by let's call it a "she" for now.) I get ready to kick her in the butt by just writing something and she not only makes it not make sense, she smiles with wicked glee when I can't write out anything more than a grocery list.

Why is she so angry with me these days? I keep her fed by reading regularly, just as she demands. I stretch my knowledge base to give things a different take. I try to fill my life with enough quiet for thoughts to have room. No dice. Could she be on vacation and just forgot to leave me a message before sauntering out of my brain with her little red suitcases and a stubby cigarette wedged between her lips? (Right now, my muse is a flapper girl in black and white with a flowing gait and a sparkly gown.)

Next time she gets fed up with me or decides to leave for greener pastures remind me to hire a temp. I'll lumber about with an unknown source of inspiration before I let her leave me high and dry again. If she doesn't get back soon, I may hire one anyway. Two muses couldn't hurt. Hell, maybe they will vie for who has the right to control my creativity.

Hmmmm, maybe there's a story there. Two muses battling to be the inspiration of the next big artist. And they become more powerful the better his or her ideas take off. Hmmmmm, maybe.

Off to jostle my muse,

Jennifer Jackson