Posted in Poetry, Prose, Stories, Writing

My Muse. Who Is She?

What does my muse look like?  A lot like me, but much younger  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 and 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) 2022 Penny Wilson All Rights Reserved

*This is a slightly revised version from its 2019 debut.  I like it.  I hope you do too.

Image by 139904 from Pixabay

Posted in Writing

12 Tips to Help You Wrangle Your Muse

Image by Sabine Sauermaul from Pixabay
We writers often stress when we can’t write.  Our Muse will occasionally go AWOL.  These lapses in creativity can last anywhere from a day or two, to months or even years.  What to do?!  How can we wrangle that Muse?  How can we coax her back in to working?  There are no hard and fast “rules”, but there are many ideas that may help.  After extensive research, I’ve compiled a list of handy ideas that may help you with this situation.  
1.Getting physical is Never allowed.
2.Bribery is often helpful and encouraged.
3.Many Muses appreciate music. Play their favorite genre.
4.Focus is needed.  Too many distractions will scare them away.
5.”You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar”.  Be kind, always.
6.Your Muse may need snacks in order to work.  Have their favorites on hand.  (see #2, bribery)
7.Does your Muse take care of herself? Be sure your Muse gets enough exercise, sleep and good food.
8.Like us, Muses are not perfect.  Let them fail.  If they give you something that you feel is a dud, don’t despair.  Next time may be better.
9.Your Muse needs practice.  Like any muscle, it must be used and exercised.
10.Shake things up!  Most Muses enjoy the new and exciting!  Rearrange your office or buy a new desk lamp or paint the room.  A different view may help!
11.Maybe your Muse is in a rut!  Let her try something new, something outside her comfort zone!  (see #9, practice)
12.Let her express herself.  Maybe she needs to write about her troubles.  She has needs too!  Let it happen!
*This is, of course, is all meant in fun.  Generally, our Muses are within us.  With that in mind, maybe something here will spark you, and your Muse! 🙂
Copyright (C) 2022 Penny Wilson All Rights Reserved
*The original idea for “wrangling your muse” was prompted by my Dear Friend Chuck over at The Reluctant Poet.  Thank you Chuck, for your inspiration.
Posted in Poetry, Writing

Fickle Bitch

The bitch

I sat there
in my usual spot

fingers poised

awaiting her dominion

It will begin 
as a trickle

I peck my way
across the page

She takes hold
and the scenes 
unfolding behind my eyelids 
magically find their way
to the page

Magic

It really does
feel like magic

She has hold of me

My fingers glide
unbidden
forming the images
in my mind's eye

The world around me
forgotten

It's just me
and the page

This is the 
magic my muse 
wields for me 

But not today

My Muse
broke our appointment
again

The fickle bitch

Copyright (C) 2021 Penny Wilson

*The original version of this was written in 2018.
I liked it very much back then, but I've revised
and refreshed it here. I hope you enjoy.
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

Posted in Poetry, Writing

The Spark



Moments
dissolve
under my fingertips

Meaningless

The spark
oh, that spark
how I chase you!

You tease me
tempt me

I dream
of the other side
of the page 

Blissful 
virginal world
of my creation

The rush!

Spark
ensnared!

fleeting

elusive

Fingers fly
across the keyboard
before the

evaporation

of
the
Spark 

Copyright © 2019 Penny Wilson
Posted in Writing

Broken Appointment

The bitch.

I sat there
in my usual spot.

Fingers poised;
ready.

Usually,
it just flows.

It begins as a trickle
with me
peck, peck, pecking my way
onto the page.

Then she takes hold
and the scenes
unfolding behind my eyelids,
magically
find their way
to the page.

Magic.

It really does
feel like that.

She has hold of me.

My fingers glide,
unbidden,
forming the images
in my mind’s eye.

The world around me;
forgotten.

The page and me.

That is all
there is.

But not today.

My Muse
broke our appointment;
again.

Fickle bitch.

Copyright (C) 2018 Penny Wilson

Posted in Prose

Next?

Today, your hair was silver with a touch of brown sprinkled in it.  Your eyes are blue.  We watched as that old woman patched another hole in her ragged doll’s dress.

But I remember the day that I saw you as a blonde Imp.  With your devilish ways, you convinced me to bludgeon that horrible man to death.  Your reasons were quite convincing, and you were right.  He deserved it.

Continue reading “Next?”

Posted in Life, Uncategorized, Writing

Muse, Friend, Companion and Spoiled Baby

I’ve written about my little dog, Rocket, several times here.  He is pretty much my constant companion and a never ending source of inspiration.

I decided I needed a proper work area for my writing.  Figuring that I would be more productive.  So I came up with this:

It’s working out pretty well.  It gets me away from the TV and it’s much better on my back than sitting hunched over the keyboard in my lap, or sitting up in bed.  Although I am still looking for a better chair.

Usually, while I’m writing, Rocket is right there beside me, snuggled up against my side.  He asks only for the occasional scratch or a tummy rub and a few words of adoration.  That’s very little in payment, considering the muse that he has become.

Continue reading “Muse, Friend, Companion and Spoiled Baby”

Posted in Life, Poetry, Uncategorized, Writing

The Spark

You knew what I was like without you.

You knew the mess I would be.

I collapse.

The pale light of the stars is of little solace.

No encouragement.

A captured moment dissolves between my fingers.

Meaningless.

The spark, oh that spark, I chase you.

I dive headlong through the white, only to dream of the other side.

It does not exist.

Why have you left me?

Alone, it is too much.

My muse, where have you gone?

Posted in Life, Prose, Uncategorized, Writing

My Muse

 

You are the well from which I drink.

Each breath with you is retched and welcoming.

Your presence can cleanse or stain this heart.

You are a curse, yet I must have you.

I need you, though I despise you.

My nourishment is gone.

You feed this soul with your beauty, your horror and pain.

Have you abandoned me?