listening to my muse

I honestly cannot remember the last time I woke up this early to do anything except feed the cat.

Eyes wide open, the sky still dark. It’s 5 AM, and my mind is on fire. In a good way. I reach for the bedside journal, the one that used to be within arms distance, filled with chicken scratch pencil markings, the hieroglyphics of a writer with big-ish ideas. It used to be right here, I mutter into the pillow, fingers grazing the stack of must-read books searching for its creased cover. 

Wait, wait, ah dang no, not a textured book but Finn’s snout nudging to be let out. The book is nothing special. An unlined black book with faux leather binding, something I bought at Barnes and Noble. Who knows when. The sketchbook pages are an ideal canvas for free from mind mapping at midnight.

My eyes focus in the dark. The kitchen table! I jump out of bed, over the litter box to dim on the light, squinting and grabbing for the book at the same time.

Oh crap, I need a pencil. I have plenty of Palomino Blackwings limited editions. So, I grab one from the mason jar and pray that it’s sharpened. Then, I head back to bed where it’s warm (remember, it’s 5 AM).

I feel like my mind has cracked open to reveal a million shards of light. I know I have to record all these thoughts immediately to make the regeneration last. Writing longhand has always been a stimulant. I take a deep breath and begin. My hand moves across the page ambiently louder than a vintage polygraph machine.

I’m in the flow of a new dawn, and it feels good.


Image by cromaconceptovisual from Pixabay


When I think about my muse, I feel guilty

DAY 7: The Writer’s Happiness Challenge: Getting to Know Your Muse

When I think about my muse, I feel guilty. We used to have amazing conversations, but over the last two decades we’ve lost the frequency as if our communication is concretely tangled. I’m not sure if it’s possible to unwind them. So yes, I’m guilty as charged for neglecting you, for not giving you the attention you deserve. But it’s not just my fault Muse, because you, too, could have tried to help me find a solution, a way to break through the static, to awaken the creativity and let the words flow. I occasionally wonder why you didn’t.

Are you disappointed that I’ve flipped from fiction to non-fiction, that I’ve been writing a personal essay, or that I’ve started writing newsworthy pieces? It’s a good thing that we’re finally getting paid for our craft, right? I believe that every type of writing sharpens our technique, it makes what you and I do together even more possible. It makes the writing stronger.

Do we even know what we want to do together? Is it a book or a shorter piece, maybe a scripted podcast? Sometimes I feel like there are just too many mediums, how can we choose. Perhaps we need to go back to the beginning, back to basics, maybe revisit that old manuscript, the one about ….

The Writing Happiness Challenge is offered by @splendidmola, for more information click here.