Looking for my Muse

by Madeleine Kando

My muse has disappeared. She left without explaining why or when she would return. She used to work overtime for long stretches, you see, to the point where I took her for granted and never even considered giving her anything in return. Maybe she realized that she was being played for a sucker and decided to teach me a lesson.

I confess to all the times that she whispered in my ear while I was in the shower or cooking dinner, but it wasn’t ‘convenient’ for me to pick up the little muselings she dropped in my lap and take the time to put them on paper. Muselings don’t stick around unless you catch them in the act, you know.

I confess to all the times I was cheating on her by watching a third rate movie on T.V. instead of spending quality time with her. Who can blame her, sitting there in the corner of my darkened living room, staring at me staring at the boob tube, wondering what she was doing there, wasting her time on me.

She must have found someone more deserving of her gifts by now. Muses are so in demand these days, what with all those Indie writers who think they can ride the gravy train without an ounce of creativity. My muse is probably cheating on me with some other undeserving schmuck, who thinks he can use her as a ghostwriter.

She used to spoil me rotten. I just had to open the faucet and buckets of words came pouring out, filling my pages with a deluge of literary gold, my hand cramping up, trying to keep up with her. At times, I even had to muzzle her, just so I could catch my breath. Aah, the good old muse days.

Ok, ok, so I learnt my lesson. Just tell me, what do I have to do to get you back? I will kiss your feet, erect a monument in your honor, not try to stop you when you run around like a chicken without a head, from one idea to the next. I will cherish every little museling, no matter how deformed or meaningless they seem. I will never interrupt you with some lame excuse like checking email or going on Facebook.

I will even sign a prenup, if that’s what it takes and not lay claims on your talents, in case you decide to leave me again, God forbid.

From now on, even reading the news will not qualify as an excuse. What? You want it in writing? Like an ‘I shall not do’ list? Done. Just in case, you are invisibly looking over my shoulder, laughing at the poor quality of my museless writing, you can see that I posted it right there, on the wall. You can hold me accountable.

Oh, really? You want me to dedicate all my future stories to you? Aren’t we getting a little greedy here? Ok, ok. Don’t walk away, I take that back.

But how do I know they will be genuine? I mean there is so much identity theft right now and I don’t want to end up being accused of plagiarism. No, no, I didn’t mean it that way, of course I trust you. Of course you don’t take shortcuts, or you wouldn’t be a muse, would you? As long as we understand each other.

But I don’t want to humiliate myself more than I already have. Begging will not make you come back, so I will only say this one more thing and then gracefully shut up:

‘Pleaaaase, pleaaase come back!’     leave comment here