Thursday’s Bumper Sticker

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I Catch Myself

I catch myself

berating others for being cruel, short-sighted, stupid, insensitive, or inattentive

and

 

I catch myself

doing the same damn stupid things that I berated them for doing

and

 

I catch myself

remembering other times that I did these stupid damn things

and

I catch myself

reminding myself that we’re all human, with foibles and inconsistencies

and

 

I catch myself

realizing that I’m just as fucking flawed

and

 

I catch myself.

 

Off-kilter

My writing world is a little off-kilter this morning. I’m again doubting that the muses and characters know what they’re doing. I suspect they’re conning me.

The muses and characters agree about what’s to be written, what’s happening, and what’s to come next. “Trust us,” they purr.

I’m jaundiced about their plans. “Seems like we’re going around in a bac.”

“A what?”

“Bac. ” I spelled it, “B.A.C. Big-ass circle.”

“Writers,” one muse mumbled to a character (Brett), who nodded back with an eye-roll. They didn’t care that I’d witnessed this, implying a disrespect that I didn’t like.

“We know what we’re doing,” another muse said, like a young mother speaking to her mother about the way she’s raising her child. “Just follow our guidance.”

“I am,” I said. “If you could let me in on a little more, I’d feel more comfortable about I’m typing.”

Several muses and characters unloosed scoffing sounds while another muse said, “We don’t want to burden you with too much.”

“I’m the writer here,” I said. “Shouldn’t I know where the story is going?”

“You do know,” one muse said.

“Yes, you know how it’s ending, don’t you?” said another muse.

Handley, a character, “Nothing personal, but we don’t want to give you too much to juggle. You already seem a little strained by the novel’s direction.”

“It’s more than a novel, it’s become a series,” I said.

“Exactly,” Handley said. “And there’s a great deal more material available that we could give you, but you seem tired of writing this.”

“Yes,” a muse said. “You’re weary of writing this, doubtful of the content, dubious of your skill and talent, and worried that you’re pulling a Wonderboys.”

I clamped my lips tight for a second before speaking. “None of that’s germane to this conversation. While that’s all true, that doesn’t change that right now, it seems like you guys are leading me in a — ”

“Big-ass circle,” a muse said. “Yes, we know.”

Realizing that I wasn’t going to win this discussion, and that the muses and characters weren’t going to tell me more until they thought I was ready for it, I finished my walk, purchased my coffee, and set up to write.

Time to write like crazy and see where the characters and muses take me. Do you know that the muses have never told me their names?

Catsip

Catsip (catfinition) – conversations between feline about information that might not be true, often passed through a nose to nose close exchange.

In use: “The orange cat and the long-haired black paws feline catsipped nose to nose for over a minute, arousing his curiosity about what was being exchanged.”

Thursday’s Theme Music

Knowing the root of a morning stream would be welcomed, because, sometimes those choices stream in from nowhere in my cerebralsphere. Today’s surprise visitor hails from my graduation year, 1974. A television and A.M. radio mellow staple, I can sing every word to “Come and Get Your Love” by Redbone. I remember it being used to sweet effect at the beginning of Guardians of the Galaxy, but I haven’t seen that movie in a few years. The streaming began as I was popping through my trends, feeding the cats, making my coffee, and worrying over my writing, an average morning at home on the Michael Scale.

It’s just one of those things.

 

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