A Day in the Life Challenge: "A Day in the Life of a Muse" -- by Hazel West

A Day in the Life of a Muse

By Hazel B West

Author’s Note

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This one is for all the writers and their ill-used muses out there. I decided to go somewhat meta with this one and essentially just make fun of myself. Not at all surprisingly, this was one of the easiest stories I have ever written.

The Muse, in the Afternoon

Ah, what is this? That clarion scent of nutty roast, the excited call to arms of caffeine! I sit offstage as you fill your vessel, the steam invoking me from my interim. For you, My Lady, I whisper such tantalizing thoughts, as I have whispered as I sat above your bed in your slumber. Perhaps you will hear? Shall we put pen to paper then? Your fingers to the keys? Shall we complete the sacred rite that is all our own…?

            Alas! It seems it is not yet to be. The coffee shall yet do its work, and I will wait until then.

            And such ideas do I have for My Lady today! There is a new tale I have given you. I know we were working in another vein, but this one, we both agree, is superior and thus has been given priority. I have leant over your shoulder as you jot the ideas, and oh, I feel it building! It is almost time to be fully realized! I am practically bursting! I am thirsting! Please My Lady, I beg you—put me out of this ecstatic misery!

            But alas, My Lady does not hear me, or rather, she willnot hear me yet—petulant fiend that I serve! I return to the shadows, sulking, yes, for My Lady’s poor attention to her beloved Muse. They say so often that the Muse is fickle, and yet, I tell thee, nay! It is the Writerwho is fickle, refusing to take up the pen even though we try our best urgings. Ah, well, if she thinks it will rid her of me she is wrong. I shall haunt her every step until she picks up that pen. How cruel to invoke me with the call of that nutty steam and then proceed to ignore me so. For shame, My Lady!

            You shop for food, and I don’t, I can’t, understand as I watch from the shadows with interest all the same. For I need not the sustenance humans do, I only need your words, My Lady, and you are starving me, my cruel Mistress! It has been too long since we have sat in collaboration. You continually cast me aside, pouting for weariness—laziness, I say! You know I only send you all these new, brilliant ideas to get your attention and yet you still make me wait, my Lady of False Intentions! 

            I know I am not your only Muse, yes, alas, I must shareMy Lady with others of my kind. Ah, what a tiering, humiliating concept, especially when I look to those I am meant share camaraderie. 

            There is that fickle one who lounges sardonically at the corners of your mind—your very own Oscar Wilde. He may dress like a gentleman, but his tongue is sharp just as you want it in a way that, alas, I was never meant to be. He gives you your satires, with that knowing smirk, your criticisms with his tongue in cheek. But he only comes to you when he feels like it, a wayward, capricious, proud being. Unlike the poor Muse of your heart, My Lady.Iam always by your side.

            There is that other one as well, which, if I am to be frank, you call upon far too often, My Lady. This wench, an approximation of you, but both darker and softer, the purveyor of literary justice you think has been wronged. The one who borrows stories and characters and puts them in your charge. Ah…while yet some of your collaborations are quite noble, I am forced to admit, you know they are not truly yours and thus I understand not why you continually heed her call! 

            And I, your ever humble, True Muse, I do all the rest. No one truly knows you as well as I, My Lady. I am not a passing fancy, I too carry your humor and others, perhaps not of the height of your precious, biting satires, but that which is palatable by the common reader. And, of course, the other ones, which you really just write for yourself with that other Muse, what good are they to you but as a passing distraction?

            Ah, My Lady, you are home now, perhaps now is the time…?

            You sit at your computer, ah, yes! I approach, I hover at your shoulder. You know I’m there, I know you do, you are just continuing to ignore me, my cruel Lady! One blank page is all you need! Just a few lines, My Lady, please! My hunger is raging!

            But alas! It appears my Lady is not ready yet. I know you must do work, and yet what is the harm of a few minutes with a pen to paper? Take thy blood red ink and jot a line! How is this dialogue, My Lady? Oh! A smile adorns your lips, I knew you would like that. And what about this? Shall it be added to the plot? Ah, no, perhaps you are correct in casting aside that one. But this…this is something to remember, don’t you agree?

            You stop. You hand reaches for a pen at your side. I hold my breath, I will you to pick it up, but…ah, it is not to be. You have gone back to your duty, you have not allowed yourself to be distracted. Shocking what a will of iron you can assume when it is myself trying to get your attentions.

            My Lady you truly are so cruel. It is truly deplorable you wonder why I am never there when you want me in earnest. 

The Muse, in the Evening

Now, surely, My Lady you have some time! I see you with your books, reading someone else’s words. No, do not claim inspiration! I am your inspiration! Let me but whisper in your ear all the plans we have for this story, you need not someone else’s words to give you that which is already standing in front of you! Yet here we are again, you casting me aside.

            And, oh, My Lady, why must you tease me so? How many times must you watch these same stories play out on the screen! It doesn’t matter how many times, they are not yours, even though ThatMuse whispers in your ear, and, OH! The indignity! You will write something down for that wenchand not me? No! Do not claim research, My Lady. You know this story well enough. Am I not as handsome as those heroes on the screen? Look at me! We shall write better stories, ones that are all ours, just the way you like them. 

            The time for ‘research’ is over, My Lady, do not put it off another night! You must put pen to paper, lest I am not here when you need me! I swear to thee, if you keep pushing me away, I will not come back!

            And oh, what are you doing now? Editing old stories, tch, why do I bother, My Lady? Leave those for now, am I not standing right in front of you? Do not ignore me so! My finest hour is approaching after all! You need only call me, command me, and I will be there guiding your way as you set pen to paper, and you put our new collaboration into words. Fill thy vessel with coffee again! Let me assume my duty!

            …Oh, yes, one more episode—how revoltingly predictable, My Lady. So it appears I shall simply sit here and wait, but good luck enjoying anything. I shall not stop whispering in your ear and you know it!

The Muse, at Midnight

It is almost my Time, my personal witching hour. The one in which I am strongest. Surely now, My Lady, even you cannot stand to cast off my pull if I am insistent enough! 

            And…what is this? You revive your coffee, the aroma guides me to your writing chamber where you sit with the computer before you. Is it now?

            And…Joy and exultation! You look to me and reach out thy hand! Oh! I am thrilled! I come to you, My Lady, I fly! What shall we collaborate tonight? It matters little to me, but only put pen to paper, or fingers to keys, do not leave me alone and famished one more night!

            And what form shall I take for you this night, My Lady? Shall I be your suave tail-coated Gentleman, for romance and high society? Shall I be your Demon of Chaos? I do believe that form will come in handy later. Shall I be your leisurely Companion? Quick to repost and thrust with the rapier of Wit? Shall I be your Grim Reaper? No…perhaps it is too early for that, you are right. Then thy blood-spattered warrior valiant? Or perhaps a more uncommon form, the Raven above your door?

            You smile, and my soul shimmers with adoration. You reach out your hand to me. “Just be yourself. We will figure it out as we go.”

            I fall to my knee and place a hand over my heart. “As you wish, My Lady,” I tell you reverently. “Shall we then begin?”

            

The Muse, at Dawn

And oh, what a night! I think of it while I perch at your desk as you slumber, myself full and both of us satisfied with the words that you put down. And oh, what work we did! This story shall be magnificent, I think you can agree, My Lady! I know we always say that in the ecstasy of a new project, but should you feel any different? Ah, I can barely wait while you sleep. I think cruelly of whispering in your ear even now, but you have given me my fill this night and I shall leave you to sleep. I too must rest so that I can be at my best for you when you pick up pen again.

            So as the dawn rises on your slumber, I fade into the shadows with the other muses, and we tread lightly so you may rest. No point in incurring your exasperation. I close my eyes and wait for your call again, My Lady, thinking of all the tempting words I shall whisper in your ear when you wake.