I've heard artists of all sorts talk of their muse. Many of my writer friends will reference their muse when a story or inspiration for a story comes to them. I usually couldn't add to the conversation because my muse has either not shown herself or maybe I've not been assigned one. There may only be so many to go around, and my name hadn't been drawn. I'm not sure I'd know her if she walked in the door anyway.
Since I've never had writer's block, and there is a general belief that one's muse has gone AWOL when this affliction strikes, then my muse must work overtime. She's obviously too busy to even introduce herself. I picture her cooped up somewhere in a miniscule cubicle of my mind (soul? heart?), dipping her pen into the inkwell, jotting down bits and pieces of ideas on translucent paper that she then crumbles into sparkly dust and blows into my mind (soul? heart?).
I'm afraid I'm letting my muse down lately. She might even be the one who feels abandoned and in need of inspiration. What must she think when my life has been too crazy for me to put in my normal hours of writing, letting her great ideas and inspirational sound bites languish in piles of sparkly dust? I know I'm getting pretty antsy. First the holidays and now baby preparations - grand baby that is. Happy times even though my writing is taking a backseat.
Hopefully, she'll hang around. And if she should decide to take a vacation, there's a pile of ideas to last me until she returns.