The Muse Made Me Do It

"I’d forgotten what I was going to say" is as good a way to start a piece as any. So I’ll leave it in and change the subject.

I had woken one morning with the most incredible urge to write down an opening line for a story. The feeling was so intense that I knew I had to grab a pen and pad and write it down. Which is what I did.

The line was, "I fell into her arms."

I had no idea what I was supposed to do with it, though. But there it was. The muse was saying,
“I’ve done my part, run with it.”

But it was three o’clock in the morning! I didn’t have to be up for work for another three hours.

The muse then said, “Get your ass downstairs and write as fast as you possibly can. I’m giving you a story. Get it done.”

Instead I fought the temptation to tackle what could have been the best piece of crap of my unpublished career and went back to my warm bed and my even warmer wife.

Later in the day I ended up writing a comic tale about a drunk’s clumsy attempt to meet a women at a neighborhood tavern. Subsequently breaking her nose, as their heads collide when he stumbles from his barstool.

But I don’t think that’s why the muse got me up at three in the morning. I think the muse had something better in mind.

"I fell into her arms" could have been the start of an incredibly moving novel - or not. Or the title of a horrible romance that wouldn’t even have gotten Danielle Steele out of bed.

You assume that when the muse arrives its got some pretty important news. Let me tell you something, the muse is subject to just as much bad taste as anyone.

A couple of weeks back I wrote a tale about a farmer putting the moves on some barnyard animals (mind you, no animal was molested during the writing of that sordid tale).

The fact that I had put some sweat into the actual writing of the thing tells me something about the state of the muse: They’re no different then the rest of us.

Normal, abnormal, wicked, kind, sexy, kinky, dull, gregarious, adventuresome, comic, melodramatic and suspenseful. I could go on . . .

OK. I will. Theoretical, rhetorical, romantic, pornographic, pointlessly wordy, childish, unreadable and bestselling.

We don’t ever anticipate being among the bestsellers, so they are a safe thing to hate.

I seem to have wondered off the path. Which way was I heading? Oh, yeah. the state of the muse.

One thing I don’t like about the muse is that they are very intrusive. They’re in the kitchen, in the shower and in the bedroom. I mean, really? At my age I’m only good for one play in the bedroom and it’s early in the second quarter. Then it’s a timeout and game over.

Actually, that’s the way it’s been for me at any of my ages. I like to say it was so I didn’t spoil my wife, but let’s face it, I’m just plain sex-lazy.
Oh, come on! Like you don't do the same. Let’s see some hands out there. You know who you are. I’m waiting . . . Oh, what a bunch of liars!

OK. I’ll take the wrap myself. I invented sex-lazy and don’t ever let me hear any of you taking credit for it.

I simply say that I want my sleep and don’t need any muse in my head mussing up my cobwebs. I’ll be happy to see you in the morning.

Whoops. I’m off the trail again without my compass. Damn muse got me coming and going.

You’d think they’d be better organized by now. Take scheduled coffee breaks and show up on time for daily musings.

Just please let me get a good eight hours sleep instead of waking me up in the middle of the night to write a story about a farmer, a sheep and a cow.

Believe me, I wouldn’t have thought of that on my own. It took help.

What kind of muse would do such a thing? I’ll never know. You never get to see them. They come and go faster than the foam on a bad beer.

I think my regular muse has been on vacation and I got the substitute teacher who hadn’t a clue as to where the class was in their studies. So it figures it might as well start at square one. The alphabet.

After doing over twenty five of those pieces it kind of leaves you numb, because I did actually put some effort into those suckers. Brain-storming, word association, themes etc. Making sure everything fit right.

The best ones to write are the ones in the form of a correspondence. I didn’t have the ‘x’ to worry about anymore. I could 'kiss' the ‘x’ words goodbye.

Time to move on, though.

I started this piece by saying I’d forgotten why I started writing it in the first place.

Which is true.

So I resorted to Kerouac tactics and wrote whatever came to mind on my train ride home. I gave myself an hour and ten minutes to do it.

When I got to my station I stopped.

I hope some of this makes sense. If not? The muse made me do it. And you know how that goes.