Lorelei* surprised me this time. I backed out of my garage in my usual morning fog to get ready for the commute. She stepped up and rapped on my window as the overhead door closed.
“Hey, give a lady a ride downtown?”
Lorelei has a way of getting what she wants, and a ride was probably the last thing she wanted. I’ve learned to simply go with the flow at this stage of my career. I hit the button and unlocked the passenger door. She walked around the front of the truck in her cutoffs and non-committal baseball tee-shirt, her raven hair pulled through an equally non-team specific baseball cap. She even had little baseballs painted on her nails.
If nothing else, she was always nice to look at.
“So what’s on your mind these days?” she asked.
“Ah, the next Experimental Notebook.”
“I’ve run into a snag. I finished a micro-fiction piece this week that I really like. I like it so much that I think it deserves a second story.”
“I’ve kept track of the ideas I’ve sent your way. Which one is it?”
“I called it The Enhanced League. It’s science fiction about a future baseball league. Do you think I could pull off a second story in that environment?”
She turned toward me and batted her eyes. I realized I ‘d been played. The outfit, the cap, even the sneakers. “Why stop there?”
“Why stop at two stories?”
“I don’t know, because a cluster of them doesn’t seem right for a collection.”
“Experimental Notebook covers a broad spectrum. It’s all about my experimenting with new things, and sharing them. It would almost have to be its own collection of stories.”
“Are you saying I should write a book of stories about The Enhanced League?”
“Why not! Because I’m neck deep into other projects. There’s The Yak Guy and I’m not going to rush him. Then there is the next Experimental Notebook, and I’d like to do Macabre Macaroni on my blog again in October.”
“So do them.”
“And just shoehorn in The Enhanced League in my spare time?”
“No. Pull the story about the damaged pitcher and put it in a different file. Start making a list for that book.”
“It would be fun to have one about umpires, sportscasters, various teams, and players. I could explore the long term effects of performance enhancing drugs and computers calling pitches. Maybe change the whole game in small degrees like metal bats. Change the leagues to North and South, instead of East, Central, and West.”
“That’s my writer. You’re starting to get inspired.”
“I could cover an entire season by skipping from event to event. Then the book tells an overall story too. Baseball is full of triumph and tragedy, so it makes a good environment–”
“Don’t miss your turn.”
“Oh yeah.” I pulled into the parking lot. “Did you need me to drop you anywhere specific?”
“No, this is fine.” She reached over and kissed my cheek.
“What’s that for?”
“You’ve just been kissed by a Muse. It’s kind of traditional. Have a nice day at work.” She got out and headed toward the back of the truck. I looked in my mirror, because Lorelei is always attractive. She had simply disappeared.
*Lorelei is a genuine Greek Muse, my Muse. She’s been with me since before I started blogging, and keeps me pretty busy. My commute is where she does some of her best work.