The thing I enjoy the most about writing fiction is
being visited by The Muse.
I meticulously set my story-line, getting my butt planted firmly
in the chair, for a required five hours (so I can at least act professional). I’m
following my story-line “just so”, struggling with dialogue that will make the
plot move forward, and then it happens.
Instead of me writing the story I am a conduit for The Muse.
My fingers strike the keyboard
like lightening through the
air.
I am no longer thinking,
the words
just magically appear.
I simply record the conversations,
From some unknown ethereal
sphere.
I am laughing, crying, fighting--
because I am with them there.
My adrenaline
is pumping,
because I just heard the sound,
the bullet zipped right by me,
and laid
my hero on the ground.
Okay, so she's a Muse in Training.
That's a fantastic, clever poem.
ReplyDeleteMy muse has let a few of my favorite characters die in Jairus' Daughters. It made me very sad and just like you I didn't see it coming even though I'm supposedly the person writing the story.
My Muse wrote the poem. Perhaps our Muses are sisters?
ReplyDeleteGreat stuff Barb, I like your muse. :o)
ReplyDeleteLove This! Your muse might anger issues lol.
ReplyDelete