Monday, November 5, 2012
Oh, where? Oh, wherefore art thou?
My writing muse must have left the premises in the past two weeks; I can't find her. I've been trying to get her on the phone, lure her out of the crevices in my mind, sniff her out in the usual inspiration haunts or at least find an overlooked message promising a quick return from vacation. But she's gone. She's not there to give me a kick in the pants in the evening when my mind goes numb watching bubble gum television. There are no more valid excuse notes reading, Hillary can't clean, cook or declutter right now, because she needs to write. There are no more Aha! moments when I'm ruminating while trying to get my little son to take a nap so that I can write, dammit.
Maybe she decided I was too risky an investment when I went through that depression after the accident. Maybe she decided to leave the day of the accident, all shook up, and she only stuck around to let me have a couple good posts out of pity before sneaking off, giving me a farewell slap on the fractured ribs as I slept, and floating away to some other writer who can't possibly need her as badly as I do.
I've tried giving myself a good shake down, but my thoughts are lying about like miscellanea from trouser pockets - Hurricane Sandy, heroes, pumpkin-chocolate, Big Bird, plastic utensils - and they just don't make sense. They won't form an orderly line, and I'm left calling, "Next!" interminably.
I'm a lonely writer. I need my muse. If you happen to see one out somewhere, in some Starbucks or big city park, and she looks like she might be mine or she might be bored, please pass along this message for me:
Help! Come back quick! What have you done!? - Sincerely, Hillary
Until I can coax her back you might enjoy:
Hint of Awful
The Longest Week of My Life (guest post by Dad)
Imagine St. Nick (Warning: major spoiler!)