Musings on My Muse

I have a muse.  His name is Charlie.  Charlie and I have issues.

Don’t get me wrong – I love Charlie.  He’s a brilliant, articulate and humorous muse – a true inspiration for my often wilted brain.  He has breathed entire articles into my hungry ears, enticed me with clever blog posts, creative and dynamic workshop ideas, plans for designing classes, even the precise words for a “critical conversation”. Charlie inspires me to soar to the greatest of heights!  How lucky is that.

But Charlie and I have issues.

You see, he has this wee annoying exasperating quirk that drives me crazy:  Charlie always – and I do mean always – chooses to enlighten me when I’m in the middle of a three-mile walk on Davis Islands or driving down I-275 or during a  movie or dinner with friends – or any other times when I’m unavailable.  I rush home at my first opportunity, sit down at the computer, poise my fingers over the keys, and NOTHING.  Charlie has left the building.

I have bargained.  I have bartered.  I have cajoled.  I have threatened to take away his green card.  (“Just STAY in Museland.  Don’t even try come back – ever”!)  But to no avail.  He shows up when he wants; stays away during what I deem crucial times.  I am left with my faulty memory, my deflated spirit, and a finished product that never measures up to the inspirations of my muse.

The solution?  I have no idea.  Charlie has yet to inspire me on that one.

 

 

 

 

 

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