Amusing the Muse

19. August 2009 by Gore Wehner.

She sits atop my computer, her flowing white gown threatening to cloak the screen every time she laughs. Which is much too often.

“Certainly you didn’t mean to use the word ‘threatening,’ did you?” Her smile is sly, but her words soothe like honey on a sore throat. You can’t help but forgive her sardonic humor.

“Threatening fits.” I stop typing to glance at her. She crosses her legs and her dress’s train flops over my words. “You’re blocking the screen,” I say.

She giggles, but moves the organdy and lace out of my path. “You aren’t using me to your best advantage, you know. You’re writing about me instead of doing what you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Oh yeah? What am I supposed to be doing?”

She sorts through her ruffles, staging them around my monitor until they resemble chrysanthemums. “Working on that novel. The one about the dead girl.”

“Lie down and close your eyes, then,” I joke.

She shakes her head as if I was a dog who didn’t obey her command to fetch. “You silly,” she says, sounding more like a three-year-old than someone who’s been around for thirty or so years.

“Okay. But I’m stuck. And you’re supposed to help me.” I sound like I’m chiding her, but she seems to understand. Her eyes soften and she pulls her hair over her shoulder.

“Then here’s what I’ve got for you. Something else has been going on with her. You have an idea of one of her problems, but I have another for you. It’s time to bring it out.”

What the heck is she talking about? “You aren’t making any sense. What other problem?”

She chuckles and she’s got that mischievous look again. The one where she knows she’s got me where she wants me. “Stop writing about me. Get to your story. Start with her aunt.”

“Her aunt?”

“Her aunt knows what’s going on. Trust me. And so will you, once you get out of here and back to work.” She stares at the tips of her hair, as if looking for split ends. Which is ridiculous. No muse of mine has problem hair. Especially not split ends.

She looks back up at me. “Go on.” She waves at me. “Bye.”

Okay.

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