MUSE IN A MIDLIFE CRISIS

I was running my words through a symbolic washing machine in one of life’s laundromats, using the finest fabric softener in the market. I not only wanted a fresh smelling novel, I wanted silkier words that fit into clouds. Gentle clouds. Nice clouds. I needed the kind of clouds I could shape with my hands and create beautiful images with.

Of course, rain comes along with clouds, as I sat through the wash and rinse cycle, thinking I’d have a brand new start after I dried and folded the load of words. Waiting wasn’t a time for cell phone conversations or working on a crossroad puzzle. There was no better time to tap into my muse and see what help he-she-or it had to offer me.

I’ve always had a muse that changes from day-to-day, without warning or even promising to show up. Sometimes muse is a man, other times a woman, and sometimes not even a person but an ocean or forest I loose myself in. One thing for sure, muse isn’t accepting any collect calls these days.

Yesterday, my muse was a man in a midlife crisis, with balding hair and a Telle Savalas face that had a sunburn. He was obviously in a mid-life crisis, driving way too fast, slamming on the brakes, and parking in the driveway of my novel house. He made a mad dash through all of the rooms of the house and threw away the keys.

“You need to move out of here,” He said, “Run these words through a symbolic washing machine and start over. If you need me, I’ll be in the Bahamas to pick up some more auras. Don’t worry. I’ll come back to see you sooner or later.”

Today, muse is a Gloria Stuart type, holding the “heart of the ocean” in her hands and tossing it. She doesn’t need all of the fancy dandy stuff. She’s sitting next to me, in one of those a-typical uncomfortable life laundromat chairs and feeling satisfied. She’s like an old hickory chair that I rock on and a song that sings to me. She tells me to dry out the words, fold them, and rest for awhile. My writing has been in the rain and it needs to cuddle up in a warm blanket with her.

“Come,” She says, “Make us some hot chocolate and I’ll walk you through a world of words.”