Oddments

In search of story

January 10.20

2 Comments

This, dear reader, is a photo of my muse, morphed once again into something elusive. The size of a turkey, in a tree full of air, she either stupidly thinks she is hiding or sadistically revels in my awareness of her.

That is, therefore, where I am: in a tree full of air. No words. Nothing to say. I’ve been stuck, wordless, for over a week. I’ve tried many times, here, there, and everywhere, to summon a thought, a word. My muse is out there peering at me through barren twigs, with a look that says “What are you going to do about it?” She knows I can’t fly so I can’t get to her to turn her upside-down and shake some words out of her.

Behind those bright black eyes swirl endless sparkling metaphors, marching feet of iambic pentameter, sentences woven of wordsilk like brilliant tapestry. And my rotten muse is keeping all that to herself.

 

2 thoughts on “January 10.20

  1. I wish I had an inspiration for you because I miss your posts, but I also understand. Sometimes, it’s there and sometimes it’s not. I’m hoping the muse gets a little closer and leaves some ideas. 🙂

    • Thanks, Judy! You’re so right that sometimes it’s there and sometimes it’s not — and who knows why either way? Writing is ever a mystery.

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