Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
She sidled in, cool eyes caressing me, mystery floating around her like a cloud of perfume. Sitting, the muse crossed her legs, an orchestra of graceful and deliberate, unhurried motion. No wasted notes, nothing extraneous. “You ready to do this?”
I nod, bewitched by her voice.
Black diamond eyes sparkling, her pale smile shifts with quicksilver fluidity. “Then begin.”
The muse can be so seductive. After nodding again, I started writing like crazy one more time.
The muse said, “Write this,” and dictated. The writer balked. “I don’t know how this fits together with what I’ve already written nor where it’s going.”
Patting him on the head, the muse whispered, “Don’t worry. It’ll all come together.”
Glowering, the writer did as bid, hoping that he’d get a decent editing muse assigned to him later.
Sometimes, the muse sneaks in and takes over without a word. Hours speed by like seconds. A day of writing passes in a blizzard of words.
Michael Seidel, writer 