I haven’t invited too many guest posts on my site, and today both you and I will discover why. I invited my muse to write a post. She accepted right away. That was three years ago.
I prodded her about it recently, during one of her rare visits, and she said she hadn’t forgotten. She’d just been busy. I think she was lying. In any case, below is what she gave me, and it sure doesn’t read like three years’ worth of work. More like a last-minute, slap-dash, hodgepodge mess.
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Hi! I’m Steve’s muse.
Never written before—more of an idea girl myself. Talker, whisperer.
(Have you ever thought about—) No, wait. Supposed to explain, not suggest.
Just, I’m full of ideas today. Suggesting’s what I do.
(How about a driverless, autonomous car story? That’d be timely.)
They fill me, ideas do. I whisper to Steve, then move on.
Don’t know what he does with ‘em, don’t care.
(What if someone learned to talk to a dolphin, and the dolphin was the only witness to a crime—would a dolphin’s testimony be accepted?)
This language Steve uses, these punctuation marks—too constraining.
ideas are where i live in the mind anything is possible
i hate constraints
(What if a spaceship used a ‘gravity sail’ instead of a light sail? So fragile it couldn’t enter a solar systems’ gravity well?)
Why cant’ I write like this?
Or
like
this?
(Time for someone to write about a murder on a magnetic levitation train)
Sorry, gotta go.
.
.
.
.
Back now. Don’t ask.
What’s the topic? Oh, constraints and rules…hate ‘em.
(If there are cruise ships, why aren’t there cruise submarines?)
Stupid topic, rules are. Moving on…
About me: Idea Girl. Creativity Girl. Muse.
(What about a time-travelling fish?)
A thousand ideas a second. Flitting sparks, nebulous, ethereal.
Gotta tell Steve. He’s my guy.
(A setting. Planet covered with muddy swamps and permanent, pea-soup fog.)
Steve’s slow, though.
Always wants me to tell him more…to flesh out my ideas.
(What if a character couldn’t read minds, but her mind could be read by anyone within a few feet of her?)
I don’t flesh out ideas, Steve.
Your job.
(What about the first robotic NASCAR driver?)
I just whisper and leave, that’s my job.
Wow! Shiny object over there! See ya!
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That’s all I got from my muse. Now you know what I have to put up with. I doubt I’ll be inviting her to guest-post again, ever. In conclu—
Ooh, ooh. Steve. Can I do the signoff?
What? No.
Pleeeeese?
Well…if it’s that imp—
Squee! Here goes. That’s it for the best-ever post on Steve’s blog by his favorite—
Now, wait a minute—
—his favorite best friend ever—
Poseidon’s Scribe’s Muse!
