Flashback..., Poetry, Reflections

Musing on Muses…

Was just briefly chatting with a newly found WordPress friend about muses.  And it reminded me, vaguely, that I had written something about that recently.  But finding it, well… that could prove a challenge.  Like many writers I know, I have a variety of tools and writing accessories around, including two active handwritten journals (that I know where they are), a Nook with a writing app, a laptop and desktop (with different files on each!), countless notebooks, filing bins, folders, and plastic bins full of unpublished words… and those are just the ones I remember right now!

And so the search began…

I am happy to report, however, that I found that piece I was looking for!  And surprised myself by finding other pieces I didn’t even remember I’d written, all relevant to what I’ve been going through recently…  And all this time I honestly believed I hadn’t been writing enough this summer, though whether my muse had abandoned me, or I her, I couldn’t honestly say…

I guess it wasn’t time, after all…

But now I think it is.

This, then, is that piece I found today, that I was actually looking for… (For some reason it is undated, but it had to be written in August or September 2015, during my writing “lull”.)

***     ***     ***

“Words, Words, Words…”

The words, the words, where have they gone?  So many good ideas I’ve had, so many clever thoughts; they mob me in my daily life!  But when I sit, at last, to write them down?

Gone.  The words are simply gone…

It’s not writer’s block, I know, because the words are always there.  At least when I’m doing something else.  It’s not until the time has come, and I’ve a story to tell.  And then…

Like mischievous children, they are gone again.  Playing hide and seek in the landscapes of my mind.

Playing peek-a-boo amid the sands of time.

“But why?!” I ask, as they sneak by,

why torture me this way?

Why haunt me all the while, then disappear when we can finally meet?”

“It isn’t time,” whispers one, the one closest to me.

“It isn’t time,” adds another, a little distance away.

“It isn’t time,” joins the next in the long line ahead.

“It isn’t time,” come the others, adding to the refrain.

“Why not?,” I ask, sincerely wondering.

“Why not?”

Giggling, they drift away, another game in mind.

And still the empty screen before me…

“Come back!,” I yell, hoping they will obey.

And come they do…

Dancing and spiralling, whipping around me,

Much too fast to get anything down…

“Slow down,” I plead, looking for an opening.

But the words themselves have become a storm, raging all around.

And none will settle down…

“It isn’t time,” I hear again.

“It isn’t time.”

“Then go away!,” I scream, annoyed beyond compare.

“Leave me alone!

At least until you’re ready to actually play WITH me.”

“Oh, look,” I whisper to myself.

“They’ve all escaped!”


And Life steps in to claim me.

After all, those dishes must be done.

Today, no less.

And as I close the laptop and step away, the giggles start anew.

More distant perhaps, but just as distinct.

I can only sigh…



Reality wins again.

This time.

“It isn’t time,” echoes softly in my head.

Not yet…

I smile to myself.

“But times WILL change, they always do.

And next time, precious words, dear friends…

I will be ready for you!”


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