After awakening with busy dreams, my muses immediately pounced on me.
“Add these sentences to this, this, and this,” one was telling me.
“You need to pick up Sly’s point of view,” another was saying. “It’s ready and needs to be expanded and told. Here’s what happens.”
A third was saying, “We’re not done with Selena. There’s a lot more for Selena.”
“Okay, okay,” I was answering all of them, making mental notes about what they directed.
That didn’t mollify them. I think it even energized them. Much more was directed, becoming a tsunami of scenes when I was walking to the coffee shop where I write. “Alright, alright,” I kept saying, nodding as each muse bubbled up to add more. I was trying to keep up and trying to shut them up, but without offending them. Never want to offend the muses or piss them off, nope, nope, nope.
Got my coffee. Yeah, time to obey the muses and write like crazy, at least one more time.
Michael Seidel, writer 
I guess your stories write themselves then. For me, not so much.
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Yes, I’m fortunate about that. Of course, it ends up requiring constant editing, like the story is being woven, and then re-woven, as I go.
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