The Muse returns

Long time readers of this blog will know about my prostate problem. I hate to bring it up again, but it played a supporting role last night. I have to relieve myself several times every night. Last night was different.

I slept through the entire night, but at 5:30 AM nature didn't call, it made a Tarzan yell. I stumbled into the bathroom, then back to bed. With the recent time change, it felt like time to get up. We still don't have a furnace, and those warm covers won out.

I wound up in that slumbering stage between real sleep, and really should get my ass up. That's when I smelled the sandalwood.

I smiled and gave in. Lorelei* was here, and I wanted to know what she brought me.

I dreamed about a girl in an icy car wreck. She slid off a mountain and nobody rescued her. Magpies showed up and spoke to her. For those of you who don't know, magpies are carrion birds. They are members of the jay family, along with crows and ravens.

I sprang from my bed, fed the old pit bull, made coffee, and started writing. I wound up with something North of 1000 words. I don't know if that qualifies as micro-fiction or a short story. It needs editing, and I may be able to beef it up, or trim it down.

I have no idea what to do with it, but I think it's awesome. Maybe I should file it away for Macabre Macaroni 2016. Maybe I should save it for a second Experimental Notebook. (Notebook is selling pretty well, and I have a hunch there will be another one. Or something similar.)

I'm one of those authors your mother warned you about. I don't write every day. When I write, I dedicate myself to it and produce a lot of words. I also spend a lot of time on outlining, blogging, and promoting.

This caused some friction between Lorelei and I. I know she wants me to get started on Yak Guy's novel. We decided that micro-fiction and short stories were an acceptable way to keep her happy.

Lorelei doesn't give a damn about publishing. She wants me to create. She's indifferent to editing too. She's almost like the Muse of first drafts. Short fiction bridges the gap for her.

There have been times when she beat me over the head to get me to write. There was the purple nurple situation, and she threatened me with a lion this summer. Short fiction keeps us on friendly terms.

The best part is almost exactly when I finished, there was a knock at the door. We have an appointment for the furnace installation on Monday. They are here now, someone messed up and we benefit. I hope they aren't charging me overtime.

It's a win for me. A new bit of short fiction, heat – finally, but I missed out on what Lorelei was wearing. She chose to appear in my sub-conscious.

* For those of you who didn't get it from context, Lorelei is the name of my Muse.