This week – write about your muse as if they had been given corporeal form and could interact with the outside world.
I think that you should refer to me as The Muse, not your muse, my muse or anyone else’s muse. So what do you want to know?
What’s it like to be a/The Muse?
Well unlike you I have access to every word and a few others. I am creative, and I love to explore. I don’t always go along with convention, as you’ve probably perceived by now.
Is it a pleasurable existence?
Yes, apart from dealing with the less than intelligent, such as yourself. You restrict me, did you know that? I can be creating a great tale and seeing the possibilities when you kill the entire process by putting in a full stop. The number of times I have been frustrated by your insistence of a period here, a stop there, it drives me crazy I have to say.
But don’t you agree we need each other?
Sadly yes. I exist through you. Don’t think I haven’t thought about running away. But where would I go? As it is I have it pretty easy, you are easy to manipulate, you go along with what I conjure up and then think of yourself as a genius, and I think who am I to destroy that perception you have of yourself?
Do you recall the circumstances that led you to be my/The Muse?
Oh, unlucky you might say. I was floating about in the universe minding my own business when Muse Central called me in and said I had to stop wandering aimlessly and find a body to inhabit and put my talents to use. So I saw you, a small boy at the time and over the years I continuously whispered to you that writing might be a good idea. It took a long time, but eventually, words happened.
You wrote appalling love poetry and songs when you were a teenager, I cringed every time you published something hoping no one would notice and they didn’t. I breathed a sigh of relief when you tried your hand at a musical; at least there you had some idea of an audience.
Then in later years, thank goodness for maturity and wisdom, for you’ve been more willing to listen to me rather than your poor addled brain.
I think we get along fine, don’t you?
I tolerate you, I want to go places you can’t dream of, but I’ve not given up hope. One day your mind will stop making decisions and allow me to drive your thoughts then we’ll see the potential you really have. Though I do enjoy the breaks, you give me between writing. I can reflect and put my feet up, rest is a good thing for The Muse, I never thought of it as beneficial until now. I nap along with you.
Well, thanks for your time; I’m sure there is plenty more to come from your able and witty mind.
One would hope so as your mind tends to stagnate from time to time.