This is who I am.
I hear of an upcoming event. I think it sounds good. I commit to it. Then as the date is nigh, I lose enthusiasm. I think, I really don't want to do this.
This is the way I am, and I know myself. If I stick with my plans, I'm glad. If I renege, I'm glad too sometimes, but I know I missed out on something I would have enjoyed, and my friends make sure I know this, too. They know this is the way I am.
A while ago I signed up for the "Writer's Weekly 24 Hour Short Story Contest."
I heard, it sounded good, I committed.
I paid five dollars to register, comfortable with leaving that on the table should I renege.
Today is contest day. I had from noon today until noon tomorrow to write no more than 1050 words on a theme that was revealed via email at precisely 12 p.m.
I'm writing this now.
Part of me is saying, "Let it go. It's only five bucks."
The other part is saying, "Give it a shot. All you can lose is five bucks." I'll give the contest a fair shake, or rather, it's me who will get the fair shake. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Sitting on the patio this evening with my laptop, my husband said to me, "Your sky is pink, Hon." He knows I love sunsets.
I turned to see my sky. I said, "I'm going for a walk across the street." I shut the laptop, put it away, slipped on my sandals and walked under my sky. Our sky. Anybody's who cares to look sky.
I thought of a question Rick, a writer friend, has on his blog: Who/What is your muse? In other words who/what is my inspiration, my creative influence, my stimulus.
I didn't respond. I know there is something inside that flips my switch from off to on allowing words to flow, but what? It just happens. I've always called my muse a he. That's all I know.
Walking tonight I thought . . . my muse is the sunset. I absorbed the pink glow. But I remembered the cumulous clouds I love, and the steel grey ones before rain. Tonight's moon hung just above the trees, nearly full and mellow as butter cream frosting. Sunset, clouds, moon . . .?
Yes, all of the above, but more. Monarchs on milkweed, ladybugs, blades of grass in sun and shadow. All of these and more. Leashed dogs that nuzzle my hand, their owners who chat with me. The saxophone, fresh corn from my garden, *you* . . .
My muse is the world, different parts at different times for different reasons. A mystery muse for now.
Will he flip my switch in time for me to complete the contest entry? I hope so. It's a lot easier with him. But if not, I won't renege.
Showering with my muse~
Fondling my muse~