My muse and me or why I did not write today.

I finally sat down in front of my computer with my plate of food. I was tired and felt I really deserved some me time. But before I could log into Prime Video for my daily dose of Sherlock Holmes and Watson, a tiny voice piped up, “Where have you been? I have been waiting for you all day.”

I groaned as I recognised the voice of my muse. She is a tiny little thing really, frail and sweet, made up of all the lovely comments that people post on my blog and their expectations of another story from me.

“So where were you?” she insisted. “Why didn’t you write today?”

“Ah…Ummm. “

Actually I had a lot of good reasons why I had not penned down a single word that day, so why was I ahhing and uming? I pulled myself up to my full height and glared at her. “Didn’t you see how busy I was?” I asked sarcastically.

“First of all, the maid had not come so I had to do the dishes. Now I really could not leave them in the sink. And of course I had to scrub every crevice in the plates and the back of the spoons and the folds in the glasses. Didn’t you see how the maid had not cleaned them at all? Now see how nice and sparkling everything is.” (I said nothing of the fact that all the other days I was perfectly happy with letting the maid do the dishes any way she wanted.)

“But after that you were free to write, no?” she persisted.

“After that there was this whole discussion on Whatsapp on why we never manage to do the things we really want to. The topic was so interesting and there was so much sharing and support happening. I couldn’t leave the conversation now, could I?”

‘But…”

“And after that”, I continued fiercely, not giving her a chance to talk, (she does tend to nag if you give her a chance), “I had to complete reading that Mills & Boons that I had started last night; the one I fell asleep reading. And as soon as I finished reading it, I nodded off. I do need to get some rest you know.”

“That still left the evening free to write…” she insisted though her voice sounded as though it was coming from a long way off.

“Do you think my daughter would leave me alive if I did not go for my daily walk? You know how strictly she follows up with that.” (I’m sure I didn’t need to tell my muse that I hated those walks and grabbed on to any excuse to avoid doing it. That was none of her business anyway!)

“And now? Now that you are here…will you write?” she sounded hesitant.

“What? Write now? At the end of such a tiring day? I have no energy left now. Let me at least eat my meal in peace” I scowled at my plate.

The utter silence made me look up. But I could not see her anywhere. All I heard was a soft sigh dying in the breeze somewhere.

10 thoughts on “My muse and me or why I did not write today.

  1. Your muse is like mine. Petulant. Either nagging or doing a disappearing act. Bah, who needs a muse. (Actually, mine is a buxom woman named Fred whose hair occasionally catches on fire. Her arch nemesis is the inner critic, Edna. You may recall my letter to her a while back: Letter to My Errant Muse.

  2. I had a similar chat yesterday. Even kept a notebook at the side of my bed – hoping to write last night or early this morning. No such luck. There’s always something we find to distract us, no?

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