64 lines
2.9 KiB
Plaintext
64 lines
2.9 KiB
Plaintext
|
Musings
|
||
|
|
Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen
|
||
|
|
All rights reserved
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
[This article originally appeared in Lucia Chamber's Electronic magazine
|
||
|
|
Smoke & Mirrors]
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Where do I get my Muse? Interesting question, and one I thought I'd be
|
||
|
|
able to answer easily. When Lucia Chambers asked me to write this
|
||
|
|
article I never even dreamed that it would remain unwritten til just a
|
||
|
|
few days before the deadline.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
I guess my Muse is hiding.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Where do I get my muse? That's a hard question. It's not like "Where do
|
||
|
|
you get your socks?" You can answer that one easily enough, and still
|
||
|
|
have time for brunch. My muse doesn't come often enough for me to know
|
||
|
|
when she'll be paying her respects again, let alone where she came from
|
||
|
|
in the first place.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Ah, but when she does come - my muse is most definitely of the female
|
||
|
|
persuasion - she strikes hard and fast. She hides in many guises,
|
||
|
|
preferring to offer inspiration when it's least expected. Often, too,
|
||
|
|
when it's least convenient.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
She comes to me in different forms, in different ways, whispering sweet
|
||
|
|
hints of a long-forgotten song, or dancing across my mind's eye in the
|
||
|
|
flash of an instant. Unfortunately, she's usually whispering in Greek
|
||
|
|
and often whilst dancing across my mind's eye, she steps on my nose.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
More than once, in a fit of uncontrollable sneezing, I've scared my muse
|
||
|
|
away. It's just as well, anyway; my Greek phrasebook rarely if ever
|
||
|
|
is of any help, and by the time I *do* manage to decipher exactly what
|
||
|
|
it is she's saying, she's off doing other things.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
And how do I know that my muse is a she, you might ask? Simple: who else
|
||
|
|
but a woman could tantalize you by revealing only bits and pieces of
|
||
|
|
herself, yank it all away in an instant, and leave you wanting for more?
|
||
|
|
Who else could drive you to stay up half the night putting words to an
|
||
|
|
electronic screen, just waiting for the ones that work? Indeed, I have
|
||
|
|
no doubt that my Muse is of the fairer sex. For a final bit of proof, I
|
||
|
|
offer you this: who but a woman could take you to the edge, make you
|
||
|
|
think that she's finally come, only to leave you with the knowledge that
|
||
|
|
it was all a fake?
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Talk about my Muse coming when it's least convenient. She just came,
|
||
|
|
inspiring me to write the chauvinistic, risque' bit of drivel you just
|
||
|
|
read. But what else can I do? To paraphrase an old saying, "My Muse made
|
||
|
|
me do it."
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Whatever problems she causes - she's caused several near wrecks, for
|
||
|
|
example, as I searched furtively for a pad and paper and failed to
|
||
|
|
remember that I was in my car at the time - I wouldn't trade her for
|
||
|
|
anything. Without her.. I couldn't be me.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
But that still doesn't explain where my Muse actually comes from, does
|
||
|
|
it? I suppose that's because I don't really know. She's told me so many
|
||
|
|
conflicting stories that I can't even begin to sort out the truth. For
|
||
|
|
all I know, she really *could* be the reincarnation of Elvis.
|
||
|
|
Stranger things have happened, for my Muse and me.
|
||
|
|
|