As I long and pine to write with the easy-going flow of Tasha and the lyrical prose of Jim, I delete thousands upon thousands of insubstantial words about talking hamsters and wise wood stoves.

   I can't do it.

   I try again, but my sweet,  wise narrative ends up as a lusty love scene involving naked aliens, so I blank the screen once more.  Then, bereft of thought and hope and will, I notice cassandra's naughty bits. (Readingly, of course.)

   My muse  yodels, cartwheels, and then sends my fingers into a dizzying flight of purple prose.

    Begone, O Eroto; it is searingly unfair that your lasvicousness invades even the quiet refuge of the written word. I seek  a nimble muse, a quiet muse, a reflective muse; the heir that Zeus and  Mnemosyne could not birth.

    My muse, what be thy name?

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After some prodding from Rich and my subsequent post about block and another discussion, inspiration for a new story struck me. This is a story of one writer's search for a muse of his or her very own. As the introduction suggests, finding a true muse may not be all it is cracked up to be. Muses are fickle things, as all too many of us know. They do not keep faith and can be seduced away, or they can drive a person far too hard. If you choose to add to this story, please keep to the tone suggested in the introduction. Stick to first person for the protagonist. Shift only if you choose to write from a different perspective (friends, family, the muse). Although this tale will probably have humorous moments, it is not intended necessarily as a farce. It is more allegory on the writing (or not writing) process. A search for an explanation of "why the block?" or "why can't I just sleep instead of having to get up and write?" It is mythological in nature to some extent and references to past mythology about the muse is welcomed. This particular muse, however, is not to be one of the nine Greek goddesses.

updated Dec 11 '08 by CheshireGrin