Gone. . . But Not Forgotten

My muse has gone on vacation,  just wish she’d taken me too!

The hotter the weather the more my pasture dries, cracks, and turns brown. So has my writing. I thought by creating an oasis perfect for reconnecting with nature, my muse and I would churn out short story after story.

Nope! Nada! Zip! Zilch!

I found a tape with Julia Cameron explaining The Writer’s Life. Wouldn’t need any sleep aids if I listened longer than a few minutes. I tried–really, I tried to comprehend, but decided that hitting my hand with a hammer would be kinder to my muse. And more productive as I have to chart my own path without advice from others.

So, as the heat continues to grow here at Twisted Creek, think I’ll try to drown my muse by diving.

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5 thoughts on “Gone. . . But Not Forgotten

  1. Muse, schmuse. Write a short story in which you torture her to death a dozen different ways. Maybe she’ll shape up.

    I’m not sure I have a muse. If I do, she’s of the let’s-do-something-else! variety. She doesn’t help me work; she tries to distract me from working.

    I love her.

    Think we’re gonna go paint some more floor. 😉

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