Where does your muse lurk?
Mine pops out in the most unexpected of places – in my vacuum as I run it, not in lines like real adults do, but in circles that could make someone believe in aliens.
Sometimes it slides out of my piano when I run my fingers over the keys in a clumsy rendition of Chopin. Other times it brightens my eyes in peppermint creamer in my coffee, or shyly blinks out at me in a misty sunrise.
It is, at times, even found in the winding of the yarn around my crochet hook – even if all it results in is a massive knot a child would be ashamed to wear.
My muse has been fleeting lately, texting rather than stopping by for tea and a chat. I’ve been having the most random thoughts and sparks of imagination, from fairy tales to interwoven time and space to, dare I say it…
Please don’t be offended if you write paranormal things, I’ve just read a few truly terrible ones that turned me off the genre entirely, and yet, for whatever reason Dear Muse left a plot on my doorstep that I can’t seem to flee. She’s also dropped fairies, prophecies, and a plot about a boy on track to shoot up his school – and the DD boy he befriends.
What in heavens name am I supposed to do with these things?
Haven’t the foggiest. I guess I’ll see what the crochet hook has to say.