Hangin’ with Me and The Muse

I’ve been writing for longer than my math skills allow me to calculate. I’ve written more types of things and in more categories, than I can think to list. My artistic temperament has been classic, sometimes hideously so, sometimes ironically cast, and rarely without an audience, forcing those around me to...endure. Thus, a big shout out is due to everyone who has ever written with me, written beside me, read my stuff, edited my stuff, and even to those who had the brave hearts to have me edit their stuff. Most of all, this goes out to those special, select few who have been gifted with exposure to my extemporaneous explosions of whatever The Muse has seen fit to deposit in my mind or on paper. This is to those who have endured us while the Muse and I bounce around spontaneously speaking these disjointed musings, usually devoid of context or on occasion, continuity. Thanks for being there when I’m hangin’ with The Muse.

For those unenlightened, The Muse and I go way back, but the relationship, like most good ones, has evolved over time. Also like most relationships, we’ve had some great times and then we’ve had some truly ugly moments. You see, The Muse can be a stubborn, cranky, whimsical lout who is entirely too independent for my own good. There have been times where I’ve quite nearly killed The Muse and others when he’s gone off for a good long sulk and ignored me for months. When such events occur, I have taken to eating chocolate obsessively, wearing lots of black, and loudly declaring that I would never write again. So call me a liar, but I prefer to call it “artistic expressionistic dabbling.” Whatever it is, The Muse would eventually call.

He would roll back into my life and we would be a couple again. Inseparable. Giggling at our secrets, infatuated by the things that we found to do inside my head. Everyone around us would be rolling their eyes at us, but I never cared. That is, until I would wake up and the inevitable would have happened; history repeating itself; and The Muse was gone in the night. There I would be, frantic and frightened with a blank page staring back at me alone. That is, until the next time.

We’ve been together doing this on-and-off relationship for longer than I existed before meeting up with him.I’ve learned where he hides and I know where he goes when he disappears. I also figured out what drives him away. Me. Fortunately, I finally have figured out that I can lure him back any time I want, simply by putting words on a page and never, ever, looking back until I feel his warm breath on my neck, whispering in my ear, savoring every word.