Posted in Poetry, Prose, Stories, Writing

My Muse. Who Is She?

What does my muse look like?  A lot like me, but much younger; late twenties, perhaps early thirties.  She’s tall and lean with long flowing dark hair that is crazy-wild.  Her eyes are full of fire and attitude.  You wouldn’t mess with this girl.  But who IS she exactly?  

Sometimes, she’s right there on my shoulder, whispering delightfully witty prose into my ear.  Other times, she’s stomping around the room, steam coming from her ears as she rants and raves about the injustices in her life.  She can weep like a little girl with her first crush or spew sensual lines of love.

My muse also has an “I don’t give a sh*t” attitude sometimes.  At these times, what ends up on the screen is not worth the effort it took to type it.

There are times when my muse is exhausting.  Tap, tap, tapping at the keys, furiously trying to record the thoughts in her (my) head.  I can barely keep up with the flow of her need to express herself.

Sometimes my muse disappears.  She gives me no notice, doesn’t leave a note letting me know when or if she’ll be back.  She’s terribly selfish at times like this.

But eventually, she comes back, perky and smiling, ready to provide me with more inspiration, ideas and the gift of expressing my inner thoughts.

I know my muse better than anyone else.  Ever.  But there are times when she surprises me.  She can be very dark, ugly even.  The things that she’s forced me to write make me shudder and shake my head with revulsion.  I’m shocked at the brutality that comes forth. We somehow manage to reconcile and join forces again.

My muse is a shape-shifter.  She’s an ever-changing kaleidoscope of colors, moods, and light.  I love her and despise her.  But I wouldn’t want to ever be without her.

Do you have a muse?  What is your muse like?  

Copyright (C) 2019 Penny wilson

Image by 139904 from Pixabay

REBLOG: Please don’t miss this amazing piece!

Watching the orange moon sail between tall trees my hunger increased. My back against the mighty oak, soothing my bones I wait for orange to turn white, the full moon For my true self to emerge. Feed the hunger to remain hidden deep in my forest home, the last of my […]

via Hunger… #Poetry — anita dawes and jaye marie

Hunger… #Poetry — anita dawes and jaye marie

Please enjoy Mitch’s hilarious true story!  Be sure to visit his blog, it’s a real treat! 🙂

I’d reached the sagely age of 20, and had finally scratched together the down payment for a groovy avocado green Chevy Vega with harvest gold vinyl seats. Then, just two weeks later, a very un-groovy cop pulled me over. “But my speedometer said 65!” “I clocked you at 72, son.” I courteously explained that he […]

via Not Guilty…ish! — Mitch Teemley

Not Guilty…ish! — Mitch Teemley

Posted in Stories, Writing

Mental Illness-A Family Affair-Beta Readers Needed

I’ve talked about Mental Illness several times on my blog.  It has a terrible stigma attached to it that is still very strong.  I have suffered from severe depression, in the past so I have first-hand knowledge of it.  There are of course all kinds of mental illness.  Depression is just a drop in the bucket.

The reason I bring this up is that I’ve had family members that had Mental illnesses.  This is something that I’ve toyed with writing about for years.  I hesitate for several reasons.  Some personal, some not.

They say that when it comes to writing, write what scares you.  This scares me.

Continue reading “Mental Illness-A Family Affair-Beta Readers Needed”

Posted in Life, Stories

Companion

It was true.  She was still here.

There was a small woman seated on the ground.  Her shoulders slumped, and her head was bowed.  Her hair hung limply in her face.  She rocked slowly back and forth.  She was a thin shadow of the robust beauty she once was.  The grass where she sat was wet from the early morning dew.  If she noticed, she gave no indication.  She hummed softly as she rocked.  She had one outstretched hand placed gently on the mound of bare earth in front of her.  I tried to place the tune she hummed but couldn’t.  A lullaby perhaps.

Her rocking stopped as I came closer, so did her humming.

The air was still and heavy around me and a chill ran through me as she turned.  This was a face almost unrecognizable.  Her once sparkling blue eyes had turned a dull grey.  They were the color of today’s gloomy sky.  Replacing the vibrant woman of my childhood was now something else.

Continue reading “Companion”

Posted in Prose, Stories

The Threshold

*A favorite Blast From the Past for you. I hope you enjoy! 🙂

Penny Wilson Writes

Doorway-to-my-soul-500x375

I saw it just on the other side of the meadow.  The sun was in the east, yet it did not shine here.

Carefully, I made my way across the dew laden grass.  I didn’t dare blink, lest it disappear.  Ignoring the chill of my bare feet, I approached as quietly as I could.

Was this it?  It had been so long since I’d seen it, I wasn’t sure.  Sometimes it would appear just on the edge of my peripheral vision, vanishing when I looked directly at it.  Other times it was like a warm hug, enveloping my entire being.

There has been a time when The Threshold was within me, barely restrained, bursting at the seams to get out and into the light of day.

Standing before it, I reached out a tentative, trembling hand.  What would it hold this time?  What magic lay on the other side?

I…

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Posted in Stories

A Visit From Tommy-

This is a story I wrote in 2015 about a favorite pet. He’s still a favorite pet and I still miss him. I hope you enjoy my story. ❤

Penny Wilson Writes

yellow cat (3)

Years ago, I was living alone in La Grande, Oregon.  La Grande is a beautiful mountain town set in the Blue Mountains of North Eastern Oregon.  I could look out my living room window and watch elk weave their paths across the face of the mountains.  In the winter, the scene was like that out of a fairy tale, with millions of beautiful Christmas trees dusted with snow.

I had just opened my own retail store.  I was selling and servicing vacuums and sewing machines and also giving sewing lessons to kids.  The store was in an ideal location; right on the corner of an intersection in town with a stop light. Not an ideal location for pets with the traffic, but a good business location.  The house I was renting at the time was right next door.

I loved this house!  It was a gorgeous 2 story Victorian, built…

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Posted in Prose, Stories

I Believe In Heroes

I originally posted this in 2015 and I know I’m a little late for the 4th, but I felt that it was appropriate for our nation’s celebration of freedom. I hope you enjoy! 🙂

Penny Wilson Writes

This man was a mere mortal of flesh and blood.  The light I saw in his eyes was that of an honorable man.  The honor this man carried with pride, was that of rare and unimaginable beauty.

I knew he was a man, with weaknesses as men have.  But I saw what was inside.  He was a Nobleman of Old.  He saw the demons and beasts that few of us see.  He would give his life to slay them.

He thought his life was better served on the battlefield.

He relied on his instincts and his brethren in the heat of battle.

My hand touched his, one last time, as he turned his shining eyes away.  I knew he couldn’t stay.  He had paused on his quest just long enough to give me a glimpse of himself.  There were battles to be fought and dragons to slay.

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