Showing posts with label Muse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Muse. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 29, 2023

Adapt

 


It’s been more than a year. About ten or eleven months longer. Give or take a few weeks. I thought about posting a year to the date last year, but why should I? It’s not going to make a difference. Time passes whether you are having fun or not. I suggest you choose how to pass the time in a way that works out best for you. I took a year off before & that was harder to do back then. Right now, it wasn’t so hard to take time off and I’m still enjoying my freedom which is hard to explain… you definitely won’t understand what I mean as long as you’re tethered to any daily habit. No judgments. I think everyone has an obsessive habit. 

Habits are tricky things. Good ones are hard to maintain and bad ones are hard to give up. Learning to adapt to change is how you survive. I’ve been though a lot of change, most everyone has, and adapting to the change was rewarding. 

Anyhoo... I’ve written new things and I've edited then rewritten things that I swore were finished. The creative process often leaves me nostalgic, which has presented the thought of sharing something from the vault. This piece is a bit of a continuation of an older short story titled, Reveal. You can read it in a post here

Do you take time off from anything? Was it difficult to quit? How did you feel when returned to it? 

Enjoy! 
kisses, m. 


Unveiled 

“Let your mind wander,” he tells me with a whisper as he leans over my shoulder.

“It’s ok,” I gently rub his arm and look up into his eyes with a smile, “I don’t need her, I have you.”

 

It’s been several years since I said goodbye to emma. We didn’t part on bad terms. We just parted. I know how he feels about her because of what she did for me creatively. Yet he can’t help but encourage me to write. He knows that part of me is empty and lost floundering without the words even though they remind me of her. It’s funny but since we met, I haven’t lacked for inspiration. He’s everything emma wasn’t, supportive, trustworthy, gentle and kind. He brings balance to the darkness within me and I’ve never taken or used him for inspiration the way I needed her. I don’t need to. He gives to me so freely that I could never betray that trust.

 

“It’s taking shape well. Has the madman given up on him?”

“No. But, I am finishing the chapter tonight. And as a matter of fact the mad…”

“Don’t tell me!”

“Spoilers!” I nudge him with my arm.

 

“Quiet, I’ll be ready to read this chapter as soon as you’re done for tonight. Don’t worry about the rough draft and don’t keep me waiting.” He kisses my neck and quietly walks back across the room. It’s 3am but he’s still awake. I don’t mind him waiting while I work. In fact, I think I’ve come to enjoy it. Sometimes he works, sometimes he watches me while pretending to read and sometimes like tonight, he goes through old letters that accumulated at the PO Box.

 

“Anything good?” I giggle.


“Get back to work,” He playfully tosses an envelope at me. “Holy f---! Christine’s getting married!”


“No way! I thought they weren’t serious a few weeks ago. You told me…”


“I know but things change. They want you to shoot their Save the Date photo based on a old snapshot of yours. Is your camera still…” he trails off while reading the letter.


“What’s wrong?”


“Nothing, it’s just something about the notes she included. I didn’t think they were even that sentimental. Do you recall I mentioned that they didn’t believe in mementos or ephemera last fall when they met at the carnival?”


“Their second date! Yes! Let me see the note and the photo of this mystery man stealing your sister away,” I stop and wait for him to respond. He doesn’t so I resume with the madman’s confession.

 

After what seems like a half hour, he returns setting a photo next to my right arm along with a magnifying glass.

 

“Take a look.” He insists and looks like he’s seen a ghost. When he hands me the single photo reminiscent of one you’d see in strip of photos from a booth. I can see a couple kissing without using the magnifier. It’s emma. And me.

 

“What is this? She’s gone! This can't be recent.” I tell him.


“I thought there were no secrets. No silent things between us. I’ve never minded your former muses and welcomed the past openly in our lives, but if you’re hiding something from me…”


“Why would Christine send this?" I demand not understanding, "This is the photo she wants to copy. I don’t understand. Are you teasing me? I thought you wouldn’t joke about her. Why didn’t you just tell me there was a photo in the mail?!”


“It’s not a joke. This wasn’t from Christine. I don’t know what it is about. But the photo came from the mail and…. You need to look at it again.”


“I know what it is. It’s an old photo of me with emma. But I haven’t seen her in… years.” I am telling the truth but it feels like I’m lying. My ears are on fire, and I’m crying. I miss her and it’s been far too long.


“Yes. That’s what your saying, but I don’t believe you. I thought we were past this” he stares into my eyes with disappointment. “You know, you don’t need her.”


“I know. She’s in the past.” I try to get the words out but I do miss her.


“It’s hard to believe that. Take a look at the date on the back. Use the magnifier.”


“It’s from last month. This can’t be right. I don’t understand.”


“You don’t understand or you don’t want to tell me the truth?”

 

I stop and wonder if I’ve become the madman and this is my chance to confess my sins. Only I don’t know what to confess. The picture he has looks just like an old one that I distinctly remember we had taken in a photo booth. As I consider that she edited the photo to add the date, I start to realize, the significance of it.

 

“It’s our anniversary.”


“No it’s not.” He snaps at me and slams the stack of mail down on the table. 


“Not ours.” I say quietly, “It’s mine and emma’s anniversary. We took that photo years ago; the date on the back is our anniversary this year.”


“You’re older in the picture, it's not the same. I have seen the original. You have it in your scrapbook, in the bedroom. This is not a duplicate of that photo. It is another photo taken later in a different place.”


“Please stop! I don’t need to examine a picture to know my own mind. I haven’t seen her… or been with her. I love you. I’m here with you.” I reach to comfort him but he pushes me away.

 

I’m alone. A feeling I know all too well from my time with emma. Except now, I am desperately begging with the man I love just to believe me.

 

“Have you seen her while you’ve been with me? Where? Here? Was she in our bed?” He walks into the kitchen and pours himself a neat whiskey while interrogating me.

 

I start to say no, but something in me stops the words, because it’s a lie. I realize that I know I’ve seen her since he and I have been together. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want it to be true, but it is. So I tell him what I know is true, “she hasn’t been here.”

 

Like the wonderful muse that she is, emma always creates chaos then disappears.

 

His anger continues to seethe. “You need to tell me. Whatever this is between you or I’m leaving.”

 

A flood of nostalgia passes through my mind as I think back to when I saw her last. It was years ago when we’d recreated the photo in my apartment and made it look like a photo booth. I’d only been with him for a few months, long before we lived here. That last night I saw her, she snuck in to my place. I’d never taken her key, and she took it as an invitation to visit. I wrote and she tried to seduce me, but there was no fight or passion that night. She was gone in the morning, slipping out as quietly as she slipped in. I finished my short story and he thought it was because of him. I have never lacked for inspiration with him, but I could never tell him about that last time with her.

 

Knowing I can’t tell him this,  because of the fight that will ensue, I remind him of my lack of work, “I haven’t written in several months.”

 

“But you started last week, and haven’t stopped. It’s because of her.”

 

“It’s because of you. I didn’t even know that photo would be in the mail. What else came with the photo? A letter?”

 

“A notecard, saying she wants to see you. But does she mean again? You’re hiding. Always hiding how you are.” He pours out the whiskey, slamming the glass down in the sink. He stares at me, like he’s giving me one last chance to confess before going to the bedroom to pack a bag. I don’t want him to go, but I don’t want him to feel like his accusations are acceptable.

 

Although it seems like it is just a card, in the back of my mind, I know emma has let herself back into my life, disrupted my happiness, and this is a declaration of her intent to stay. Even as I listen to him in the other room slamming drawers and throwing his things around, I know that I have to finish writing. At least complete enough work to get the madman out of my mind so all my rational thoughts will return. I can’t think clearly enough to keep reassuring him or even fight with him to stay while my mind is full. So I set back down to let the madman in, and let my love walk out.

 

After several glasses of wine, sunrise is nearly upon the horizon, and the madman has confessed then killed again. Coming out of my creative trance, I realize I’m not alone. I hear footsteps crossing the threshold of the living room, “Are you back to apologize?” I speak into the stillness.

 

“Not unless you make me,” says a voice I haven’t heard in quite some time. “I hope you don’t mind I let myself in yesterday when he picked up the mail.”

 

“Your note wasn’t in the mail, was it?” I stand and turn around to see my former muse, looking far better than she should.

 

“No, I dropped it in when he set the letters on the console. He was very trusting to leave the door unlocked when he went to relieve himself.” She says walking toward me until she’s close enough to touch me, then stops. “You know your guest room is far more inviting than it seems.”

 

“You knew that photo would upset him.” I hiss into her face even though I know better than to provoke her.

 

Instead of reacting with words, she pulls me against her and whispers in my ear, “I’m not trying to do anything to him. I thought you'd see it before him.


Why are you here?” I try to object and pull away, but she pulls tighter. 


I'm just here to help you. I missed you…. and you know how you get. But he’s wrong, you aren’t hiding anything, anymore.”

 

I want to give in, because I miss this. I miss her. So I let my hands slide around hers and she leans in to kiss my neck.

 

“What if he comes back?” I interrupt her slowly moving lips with a twist of my head.

 

“He won’t.” She says and looks into my eyes. “At least not right now. Always worrying instead of giving into the rhythm of living. You aren’t disappointed he left, or you would have stopped writing.”

 

I know she’s right, I didn’t stop him from going, just like I don’t really want to stop her from coming back into my life. 


Slowly stepping backwards, she slinks away from me with my glass of wine. “Come, forget your mind, let your heart wander. Let’s talk.”


“But I need to finish…” I try to make an excuse. 


“You’re already finished.” She sits down on the sofa and taps the seat next to her with a smile. 


“Playing the game?" I ask walking slowly towards her, mostly because I think she’s provoking me.


“No, I just like you this way. You’re unveiled and unguarded without your mask. It’s been a long time. We have a lot to talk about.”


Unmasking myself for her was always the fun part of our game. It was ours and no one else's. Removing the mask is unnecessary now because she knows me all too well. There's nothing hidden between us. But she still wants to play.


“Shhh,” I say as I sit down next to her. “Let the feelings and words fall into place. Enjoy the rhythm. They will come when we are ready.”


Just as easily as I let her wander out my heart and my mind, I let emma back in.


Friday, April 11, 2014

Conversations With My Muse

“You are the embodiment of the information you choose to accept and act upon. To change your circumstances you need to change your thinking and subsequent actions.” 

- Adlin Sinclair


Well, it's something interesting to have to warn the people new to your life & writing that "it's not about you." Yet I find that it's now a necessary precaution. As an artist that creates something that isn't real you often have to reassure the people in your life that there's a part of you that doesn't play by the rules but it's not personal. That, yes, you the creative [the writer, the artist - painter, sculptor, poet, comedian, photographer, etc.] may take quirks, ticks, eccentricities and stories when they are given to you but it isn't about them. No, not everything. Some things are not for public consumption. It's amazing how love and compassion for another human being will stay your hand. It does, though. 

So what makes you create? Your inspiration? I'm addressing what most artists have... A muse.  A person, thing, music, etc. that sets forth their creative process. Something I personally do not discuss often is my inner muse. That thing inside my mind that urges me forward with an idea. It's something I locked away a while back. Why? I couldn't control it. It was overwhelming. While someone's courage has inspired me to free mine, I can't help but wonder as I let it loose: will I lose balance again? Will I let the thoughts of others shape and mold what the inner monologue of my muse encourages me to write? Time will tell. 

I hate to preface pieces with a "here's what it's about" but this one is about conversations with one's muse. It's a fun piece that I gave a freudian twist thinking at the time it would be quite harmless. In hindsight: Nothing is harmless without a warning label. Even then it's still up to a person to take it in and make it about themselves...???

Do you have a muse? 

Enjoy! 
Kisses, m. 

orange 22 c/o tylershields.com


Reveal
(7-31-2010)

Here she comes around again… Tiptoeing into the back of my mind when she enters the room. I’m alone tonight. Except for emma.

Quietly she whispers into my ear.

“Let it breathe. The thoughts that fill your mind. Savor it. Enjoy the kill. You know how disappointed you can get when you forget to give in to the rhythm of it all.”

She always does this. Circles around me after entering the room. Leaning in and observing my thoughts with little effort but every time she never fails to diagnose the problem accurately. Tonight is different. I flip the pages shut when she leans in for a kiss and whispers.

Fingers slide in and out of the wire of the chair and I can feel her frustration. Slowly the tiny digits move upward toward my head. Through my hair and reaching down to my neckline. Up and down they slide, gripping around my neck before moving down to my shoulders. I tense up and flinch to shake free. She reacts with a jerk. Wounded like a child she waits before leaning in again. But nevertheless she does. Hands grip tighter around my neck. Locked. Her breath kisses my face while she leans in further to let her tongue glide along my earlobe. She bites and releases.

“Stop hiding behind that mask!” she speaks quietly in a hiss that persists into my ears.

Her anger precedes her. “You’re so in LOVE with your problems.” Words like knives stick into my heart.

A wave of panic sends my heart racing as I spin my chair around to face her. Chest continues to heave uncontrollably while emma slinks over to the bar and continues her rant. “You haven’t written anything in over a month.”

She pauses briefly to pour a glass of Rouge before resuming her rant.

“All of this?” A wave of her beautifully slender arm graces the atmosphere. “Listen to me! All of this has been produced. You are merely coasting on what has already been. There is nothing new. You know it and SO… DO… I!”

She steps around the bar and back towards my work space.

I’m completely speechless as emma crosses the room. She wants to kiss me. We aren’t in agreement so there’s no passion. I despise her, she loves me. I want to tear her face off, she wants to embrace and inspire me. I can feel her rage as she leans over my body across my shoulder to see the empty page.

“Honestly, how can you expect me to continue to show up?” she touches my face and kisses my neck while her fingers run through my long hair. “Look gorgeous, inspiration is standing right in front of you. It’s time to do something about it.”

Quietly I sip at my Merlot and take another puff at my cigar. emma is right, she’s rarely ever wrong. I’m a capable woman yet here I am at 3am holed up with my problems instead of making love to my beautiful muse and producing work inspired by her captivating presence.

Then again she’s grown quite arrogant and I’m tired of these childish games. The coming and goings at all hours is a wear on my patience.

“You think just because you show up, I can instantly turn it on.” My psyche is not ruled by a light switch. “Simply yelling ‘POOF!’ will not make it happen.” emma walks away the moment my voice raises.

But what answer can there be? I’m alone drinking night after night and there she appears and assumes that it’s best to work because she’s in the mood. Well tonight I’m not feeling it. “Shut the fuck up.” I toss an empty bottle in her direction.

“What the fuck?!” She screams and brings down her glass with a slam. The glass shatters and I’m stunned at her reaction.

What the fuck, indeed. I’m alone. Drinking. Yelling… at my muse!

Mentally this is the point she checks out. Tonight is different though. She wants my throat. I want her death. We are equally in contempt for each other.

Across the room it flies. A bottle of red wine zipping past my face. “You’re wasting your time and good wine. You missed my face you stupid bitch! Quit.”

Bottle after bottle hits the wall behind me. Red splashes across the white. Blank canvas coated in a watery mess.

“Ha ha ha! I see red!” She shrieks in sheer delight from across the room before tossing the bottle of Chianti at my head.

Typically she mentally checks out when it gets too rough. Not tonight. She’s in it to win. Whatever could she be after? I’m certainly not inspired by this tantrum. But it is entertaining. I quite enjoy her fits on occasion. This one seems like it is almost over.

“REVEAL YOURSELF! Tell the truth.” She yells at me in a giggling yet taunting arrogance.

“What ever do you mean by all of this? No one is the enemy. We are in agreement.” Although we are not I say the words to pacify her. Halfheartedly I toss aside my glass and start over towards emma.

She is standing still with a bottle raised over her head. There’s still anger in her eyes and she speaks calmly despite her hostile stance.

“I’ve given you countless opportunities to confess. Say it. I need you to admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“Why silly that you’re a fraud, of course.” She opens her bright red lips wide to reveal her white teeth as a laugh grows from her belly. Down lowers the bottle during this hysterical laughter until it lands on the floor in a shatter. The red liquid sprays across her bare legs and coats the hardwood floor.

On and on pours out the laughter. Until I finally edge close enough to put my hands around her waist. She stops smiling and looks at me. I kiss her forehead and lean against her face. Then I begin.

“Honey, please sit down. Talk with me. What are you thinking?” I motion toward the nearest chairs. She stiffens but does not jerk away.

“Take off the mask with me. You know I can still see you with it on.”

“Fine. Why am I a fraud? Is this about the work again? We’ve been through this far too many times. In the end I will win. There are no masks concealing anyone.” I tighten my grip around her waist and shove her toward the chair. I’m tired of this silly shit. I need to work and I’m hardly up for these antics.

“Liar. Without me there would be no work. I’m everything…”

emma shows up everything does seem to move better, but that’s hardly inspiration. She’s unreliable, unreasonable and I’m going to kill her. I wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze.

“Stop. Who’s lying now? You can’t prove that. I was spinning thousands of tales before you showed up.” Tighter my hands lock in. She reaches up and grabs my waist and pulls me down.

“But nothing was worth a penny before me. And… you know it. Admit it.” She bites at the skin on the inside of my arm. Red smears across the whiteness of my skin. “Are you going to do it or not?” Afraid? Maybe I’m right and all of it goes...”

Let loose. Back flies my hand and strikes her face. For some reason punishing her hurts me. I wince at the pain my slap causes her.

“You do it and I’ll take it all with me.” She plays extortionist better than she plays lover. Lips keep kissing and biting at my elbow between words. Hands and fingers are unbuttoning my shirt and pulling at my skin. She wants more but I loathe her.

“I don’t care. Die!”

I wrap both hands around her neck and start in. Her arms reach out to pull mine away and find no match for the anger that is in my grip. Eyes open wider and wider. She looks like a blow up doll with her mouth wide open and eyes popped out. Click. Click. Click. Sounds like a clock escape out of her dry mouth. Legs raised and heels flailing. Slowly energy drains from her body. I can feel the struggle gently fading away. Her face drops aside without lines and I let go.

Sitting down I look over at her unmoving shell and wait. Wait for the animation of life to take hold again. Can I create without her? I don’t know. I’m in love with her, but I can not tolerate this abuse. She’s always like this but tonight is different. No one walks away. Not even I.

And I’m inspired. That makes this scenario almost worse than before. Is it there because of what I’ve done or is it just there like a light that has been turned on? She’s beautiful when she’s silent. Bright red lips spread wide open. Still. I place my head in my hands and feel like sobbing. But I can’t there are words. Oh so many words flowing and pouring into my empty head.

Two hands wrap around my waist and slide up around my breasts. Breath crawls around my neck as a face leans against my shoulder. “Did you like that?”

“Is that how you plan on handling things from now on?” I reach over and touch her cheek. She leans in to kiss me.

“I gave you what you needed. It’s what you were afraid of. You know…”

“Losing you. My inspiration. Without you what would there be? What will come next?”

“Don’t worry about that. Come to bed.” She releases her hold and gets up. Walking away quietly she begins disrobing. emma is always like this when she returns. I never know what the timing will bring. Only that it will come.

“I have a few things to…”

Quietly she whispers in my ear.

“I know… let it out. Give into the rhythm. Dance. Let these thoughts and feelings reveal themselves. Don’t hold back. Savor. Enjoy. Come when you’re ready.”

And there she goes again… Tiptoeing out of the room, her presence remaining in the back of my mind.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Consumed...




muse - madness / song of the day 1252013


Needless to say I'm consumed by a little Madness right now. Words, of course! Oh and the musical kind... Don't you just love Muse? I know I do. 

Are you consumed by Madness? Is Madness your Muse? Or perhaps a little of both? A little Madness never hurts until someone takes it seriously. Now my loveliest readers... None of you would make that mistake... Would you? No I'm convinced that not one of you could make that mistake. But you never know. I wonder what would happen if someone did take it seriously?? 

Anyhoo... Here's a short story taken from my blog and also available in my ebook of short fiction pieces, Killing Changes You which you can find
HERE! on Amazon. Check it out! Enjoy a little Muse and Madness! 


kisses, m.



Madness Consumes Me
(4-28-09)
Photobucket


Madness consumes me. I wonder how many fingers I’ve cut off before I began to mince his arm into tiny little pieces using one of those ‘Magic Knife’ things. You know, one of the knives that cuts through cans; the ones advertised at 4:08 am in bad TV infomercials. Those infomercials meant for no one really; the same ones that infest your TV when your eyes can barely stay open and your mind won’t give in to sleep. 

Yes! It is sharp enough to cut through cans and apparently bones too. And the Puree setting on the blender should do the rest. Our blender is the same one they use on the astronauts’ food. 

Advanced. 
Sophisticated. 

You see, he always had to have the newest technologically advanced gadgets. If it was new and had the red stamped approval, he had to have it. Not that either of us were ever here to use them. We were hardly ever here. The maid used our kitchen more than either of us these days and that was mostly for cleaning. At least these devices finally came in handy. However, grinding up bones was never the purpose intended. 

Nonetheless it worked. 

Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart couldn’t have been prouder of me. I’ve crafted my murder into a tidy household project, minus the bows and ribbons on this and there won’t be any need to pre-heat the oven. Garbage disposal should digest my puree nicely.

Photobucket

Now what did this poor bastard do to end up on the right side of my trash compactor? He tried to kill me. I never saw it coming. Some people never get it, but I feel pretty naïve, cause I never saw this. 

Well, somehow I got the upper hand, so it’s him in little pieces and not me. How? He poisoned the wine. 

Red. 
Merlot. 
My favorite. 

The dumb bastard mixed up the glasses. I never did understand how anyone could go through so much trouble to accomplish something and then completely screw things up so badly. You’d think he would have caught something like that. 

Again I never saw this coming. Naïve. Deer in headlights. Love turned badly; turned to hate quicker than I could blink. If he had got things right, I quietly would have drifted off just as he did… 

What were we talking about? Oh yes, we were talking about improvisation, how it’s a dying art, when he quietly slid down and slumped over in his chair. How did I know about the wine? See I hadn’t taken a drink of mine yet. Sometimes I get so passionate in my beliefs that I don’t stop talking to breathe, let alone take a sip of wine. And the wine was all we had… 

After I checked his pulse I realized "Oh God, he's dead." I think most people freak out in situations like this and call the emergency services. I don’t know why I remained so calm. Systematically I went through his pockets and found his plans, notes and letters, my suicide note, and an insurance policy. 

I honestly thought he loved me, but as I read these notes while sitting at the table next to his body, I began to realize how much he’d really grown to despise me. Somehow our relationship had become a competition - a struggle to him. Seriously, I never saw this coming. I never thought I’d love someone so deeply and in reality he hated me so truly. 

I open a new bottle of merlot and prepare to finish my task at hand. 

Chop. Dice. Puree.

Just Madness.

Madness - Muse

Saturday, January 26, 2013

REVEAL... YOURSELF!

bardot unmasked before paris. 2012. 


Reveal yourself? Moi? You first. Thought so.

Actually, here I set... working tonight. Mostly looking in the most inconspicuous places for an email to one of my editors that currently eludes me. I'm avoiding the obvious choice of rewriting my piece from an older draft that is complete. And then I want to say perhaps it does not exist because I can not locate it, but that would be a lie. It's has me thinking that perhaps the things we think are happening are not and those that are not very much are. People often keep things back or choose not to RECOGNIZE them because it's easier to assume that no one will know the difference in the end. The how's or why's of a creation, an action, or even an affair are dismissed because it is simpler to know that it happened, and not be concerned of how it originated. You see that is where they are wrong. Someone will know the difference... That person will be the one pretending it didn't happen. Anyhow, here's a story of mischief. It's a bit of a joke between my baby sis and I that I have an inner muse. And sometimes I feel as though my muse torments me by withholding inspiration. So I wrote a short bit about it. With a freudian twist. Of course! Enjoy! 
kisses, 
m.



Reveal.
(7-31-2010)

Here she comes around again… Tiptoeing into the back of my mind when she enters the room. I’m alone tonight. Except for emma.

Quietly she whispers into my ear.

“Let it breathe. The thoughts that fill your mind. Savor it. Enjoy the kill. You know how disappointed you can get when you forget to give in to the rhythm of it all.”

She always does this. Circles around me after entering the room. Leaning in and observing my thoughts with little effort but every time she never fails to diagnose the problem accurately. Tonight is different. I flip the pages shut when she leans in for a kiss and whispers.

Fingers slide in and out of the wire of the chair and I can feel her frustration. Slowly the tiny digits move upward toward my head. Through my hair and reaching down to my neckline. Up and down they slide, gripping around my neck before moving down to my shoulders. I tense up and flinch to shake free. She reacts with a jerk. Wounded like a child she waits before leaning in again. But nevertheless she does. Hands grip tighter around my neck. Locked. Her breath kisses my face while she leans in further to let her tongue glide along my earlobe. She bites and releases.

“Stop hiding behind that mask!” she speaks quietly in a hiss that persists into my ears.

Her anger precedes her. “You’re so in LOVE with your problems.” Words like knives stick into my heart.

A wave of panic sends my heart racing as I spin my chair around to face her. Chest continues to heave uncontrollably while emma slinks over to the bar and continues her rant. “You haven’t written anything in over a month.”

She pauses briefly to pour a glass of Rouge before resuming her rant.

“All of this?” A wave of her beautifully slender arm graces the atmosphere. “Listen to me! All of this has been produced. You are merely coasting on what has already been. There is nothing new. You know it and SO… DO… I!”

She steps around the bar and back towards my work space.

I’m completely speechless as emma crosses the room. She wants to kiss me. We aren’t in agreement so there’s no passion. I despise her, she loves me. I want to tear her face off, she wants to embrace and inspire me. I can feel her rage as she leans over my body across my shoulder to see the empty page.

“Honestly, how can you expect me to continue to show up?” she touches my face and kisses my neck while her fingers run through my long hair. “Look gorgeous, inspiration is standing right in front of you. It’s time to do something about it.”

Quietly I sip at my Merlot and take another puff at my cigar. emma is right, she’s rarely ever wrong. I’m a capable woman yet here I am at 3am holed up with my problems instead of making love to my beautiful muse and producing work inspired by her captivating presence.

Then again she’s grown quite arrogant and I’m tired of these childish games. The coming and goings at all hours is a wear on my patience.

“You think just because you show up, I can instantly turn it on.” My psyche is not ruled by a light switch. “Simply yelling ‘POOF!’ will not make it happen.” emma walks away the moment my voice raises.

But what answer can there be? I’m alone drinking night after night and there she appears and assumes that it’s best to work because she’s in the mood. Well tonight I’m not feeling it. “Shut the fuck up.” I toss an empty bottle in her direction.

“What the fuck?!” She screams and brings down her glass with a slam. The glass shatters and I’m stunned at her reaction.

What the fuck, indeed. I’m alone. Drinking. Yelling… at my muse!

Mentally this is the point she checks out. Tonight is different though. She wants my throat. I want her death. We are equally in contempt for each other.

Across the room it flies. A bottle of red wine zipping past my face. “You’re wasting your time and good wine. You missed my face you stupid bitch! Quit.”

Bottle after bottle hits the wall behind me. Red splashes across the white. Blank canvas coated in a watery mess.

“Ha ha ha! I see red!” She shrieks in sheer delight from across the room before tossing the bottle of Chianti at my head.

Typically she mentally checks out when it gets too rough. Not tonight. She’s in it to win. Whatever could she be after? I’m certainly not inspired by this tantrum. But it is entertaining. I quite enjoy her fits on occasion. This one seems like it is almost over.

“REVEAL YOURSELF! Tell the truth.” She yells at me in a giggling yet taunting arrogance.

“What ever do you mean by all of this? No one is the enemy. We are in agreement.” Although we are not I say the words to pacify her. Halfheartedly I toss aside my glass and start over towards emma.

She is standing still with a bottle raised over her head. There’s still anger in her eyes and she speaks calmly despite her hostile stance.

“I’ve given you countless opportunities to confess. Say it. I need you to admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“Why silly that you’re a fraud, of course.” She opens her bright red lips wide to reveal her white teeth as a laugh grows from her belly. Down lowers the bottle during this hysterical laughter until it lands on the floor in a shatter. The red liquid sprays across her bare legs and coats the hardwood floor.

On and on pours out the laughter. Until I finally edge close enough to put my hands around her waist. She stops smiling and looks at me. I kiss her forehead and lean against her face. Then I begin.

“Honey, please sit down. Talk with me. What are you thinking?” I motion toward the nearest chairs. She stiffens but does not jerk away.

“Take off the mask with me. You know I can still see you with it on.”

“Fine. Why am I a fraud? Is this about the work again? We’ve been through this far too many times. In the end I will win. There are no masks concealing anyone.” I tighten my grip around her waist and shove her toward the chair. I’m tired of this silly shit. I need to work and I’m hardly up for these antics.

“Liar. Without me there would be no work. I’m everything…”

emma shows up everything does seem to move better, but that’s hardly inspiration. She’s unreliable, unreasonable and I’m going to kill her. I wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze.

“Stop. Who’s lying now? You can’t prove that. I was spinning thousands of tales before you showed up.” Tighter my hands lock in. She reaches up and grabs my waist and pulls me down.

“But nothing was worth a penny before me. And… you know it. Admit it.” She bites at the skin on the inside of my arm. Red smears across the whiteness of my skin. “Are you going to do it or not?” Afraid? Maybe I’m right and all of it goes...”

Let loose. Back flies my hand and strikes her face. For some reason punishing her hurts me. I wince at the pain my slap causes her.

“You do it and I’ll take it all with me.” She plays extortionist better than she plays lover. Lips keep kissing and biting at my elbow between words. Hands and fingers are unbuttoning my shirt and pulling at my skin. She wants more but I loathe her.

“I don’t care. Die!”

I wrap both hands around her neck and start in. Her arms reach out to pull mine away and find no match for the anger that is in my grip. Eyes open wider and wider. She looks like a blow up doll with her mouth wide open and eyes popped out. Click. Click. Click. Sounds like a clock escape out of her dry mouth. Legs raised and heels flailing. Slowly energy drains from her body. I can feel the struggle gently fading away. Her face drops aside without lines and I let go.

Sitting down I look over at her unmoving shell and wait. Wait for the animation of life to take hold again. Can I create without her? I don’t know. I’m in love with her, but I can not tolerate this abuse. She’s always like this but tonight is different. No one walks away. Not even I.

And I’m inspired. That makes this scenario almost worse than before. Is it there because of what I’ve done or is it just there like a light that has been turned on? She’s beautiful when she’s silent. Bright red lips spread wide open. Still. I place my head in my hands and feel like sobbing. But I can’t there are words. Oh so many words flowing and pouring into my empty head.

Two hands wrap around my waist and slide up around my breasts. Breath crawls around my neck as a face leans against my shoulder. “Did you like that?”

“Is that how you plan on handling things from now on?” I reach over and touch her cheek. She leans in to kiss me.

“I gave you what you needed. It’s what you were afraid of. You know…”

“Losing you. My inspiration. Without you what would there be? What will come next?”

“Don’t worry about that. Come to bed.” She releases her hold and gets up. Walking away quietly she begins disrobing. emma is always like this when she returns. I never know what the timing will bring. Only that it will come.

“I have a few things to…”

Quietly she whispers in my ear.

“I know… let it out. Give into the rhythm. Dance. Let these thoughts and feelings reveal themselves. Don’t hold back. Savor. Enjoy. Come when you’re ready.”

And there she goes again… Tiptoeing out of the room, her presence remaining in the back of my mind.