(originally posted 10/16/2007, Writingscape V1.0)
Greetings, everyone! I am quite surprised to be here.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am The Nameless One, She Who Resides in the Outer Reaches of Nirvana, the Method to the Dynastic One’s Madness. But it will be less of a mouthful if you simply call me… Stephe’s muse. She cannot be with you at this moment because, frankly, I have her wound a bit too tightly, so she is taking time to re-center herself. Which means reading Koontz, Clegg, M.D. Benoit, making spaghetti, drinking lots of hot tea with lemon and brandy, and knitting for her LiveJournal pal smeddley. Against her better judgement, I am her guest blogger. Righteous.
Why is she so distracted, you ask? I have this habit, you see, this bad habit that is the sworn duty of every faithful muse, and I have done it to her again–dropped a character on her head that she cannot ignore, straight out of the blue, and said character landed on Stephe’s forehead like a chunk of granite and left a pretty sizable mark. (I saw a ring of teeny sparrows circling her skull like in one of those really old cartoons. Seriously.) That is all I have given her. A female with a bottomless soul wakes up in a small, confined space, with no sense of past, present, or future, and the top coming off of whatever and her squinting at the light, in either fantastic or futuristic surroundings, clean, sleek, and uncluttered. She is calm, cool, collected, and confused. She probably cannot physically speak. Nothing more.
Truth told, that is all Stephe needs and she knows it, despite the melodramatic wailing and moaning she is doing right now. There is a strong story waiting to be told in that tiny bit of nothing, and she will draw that story out in time and enjoy it, without it taking any effort away from her selling of Fantasy Book 1 or writing of Fantasy Book 2. What is she complaining about, anyway? She goes into spasms when I send her a compelling character, and she goes into spasms when I go on vacation. I simply cannot win.
No real worries, however. Stephe gives me hell, but she adores me unconditionally and will never really fire me (my union would not allow that anyway). We are partners, in perfect balance. (Oh all right, my job IS more glamorous than hers, but that is hardly my fault.)
Well. I so hope she lets me do this again. I think she will–so long as I am good and promise not to reveal any of her naughties…
Filed under: My Writing, muse
