ABSTRUSE
Cirque du Freak
- Joined
- Mar 4, 2003
- Posts
- 50,094
Betty is my muse.
She seems to have taken leave of me, not that I blame her. I think Muses need alone time as well...to recharge or something.
Betty came to life in my novel, as you can see:
I like to think I have a guardian angel. I never thought of Sophie as getting the job. The universe could never handle it. No my angel is different. She’s not the chubby, floating cherub or the ethereal thin and blonde kind with the huge wings. No, my angel is like those Balinese carved flying figures. She is in an array of brilliant colors with exotic eyes and painted toenails. Her wings detach from her body. She speaks no English but it’s okay. We understand each other perfectly. I’m just happy to know she’s there.
I know she’s there even though we don’t talk much. If she wasn’t I would probably be dead now. There were so many close calls that could never be explained. Someone had to be watching out for me. Her name is Betty, my choice not hers. Her real name is probably unpronounceable and she seems to like Betty. Is it wrong to call my Balinese guardian angel Betty? No. What is wrong is naming a Rottweiler Candy or Mindy. No offense to the Candys and Mindys out there.
Betty isn’t just my guardian angel; she’s also my muse. When Betty is up and running with ideas she’s amazing. At times it feels as though she packs them into my head and then uses a ramrod in my ear as if she’s loading a cannon. Other times it’s like the over packed suitcase she has to sit on to close. Of course there are plenty of times when she’s off somewhere and my head is so empty I can actually hear the tumbleweeds rolling around in there. There was a year or so after I graduated from college where she was gone so long I asked to see ID when she returned.
When Betty is with me she is resolute. At these times she stands by me even when my mood is intolerable or I’m just plain lazy. She will needle at me until I at least write one line or paragraph. I love her most when she makes me go outside and observe nature. She points me in the direction of vast mountain ranges, the stretches of beach or the silent forest. She will point out the tiniest details in a flower or the colors in a fish’s scales. I’ve found myself observing the flora and fauna with such intensity that I’ve been drenched in downpours, burned by the sun and covered in a blanket of snow.
So you can see why Betty is important to me.
She has a big job for a small muse. I think even Betty's tolerance can be pushed to the limits with me at times.
She did message me. She basically told me....Hey dumbass, it's a beautiful day out today and there you sit in your sweater drinking coffee and smoking. I know, I know, the house needs to be cleaned, laundry and dishes need to be done..but....the sun isn't going to stay out until you ready for it nor will the flowers stay in bloom until you sweep the kitchen floor.
Beauty surrounds you and inspires you, you don't need me to point that out, you have eyes don't you?
I hate when she's right.
And another thing... she's persistant... there are stories out there waiting to be told if you just listen. Life is all around you, things are happening. Get off your fat ass and go forth unto the world. I'm going to go work on my tan.
I love Betty, she doesn't shit around. I think I need to give her more credit. She infuses little ideas and visions into my thoughts. If I ignore them too long she kicks my brain to remind me there is a reason for them being there.
You have an artist's soul. She says. Be bohemian. Be free.
I think I shall do just that. I owe Betty a cappucino.
Does anyone else have a personal relationship with their muse(s)? Have you hugged them today?
~Abs~
She seems to have taken leave of me, not that I blame her. I think Muses need alone time as well...to recharge or something.
Betty came to life in my novel, as you can see:
I like to think I have a guardian angel. I never thought of Sophie as getting the job. The universe could never handle it. No my angel is different. She’s not the chubby, floating cherub or the ethereal thin and blonde kind with the huge wings. No, my angel is like those Balinese carved flying figures. She is in an array of brilliant colors with exotic eyes and painted toenails. Her wings detach from her body. She speaks no English but it’s okay. We understand each other perfectly. I’m just happy to know she’s there.
I know she’s there even though we don’t talk much. If she wasn’t I would probably be dead now. There were so many close calls that could never be explained. Someone had to be watching out for me. Her name is Betty, my choice not hers. Her real name is probably unpronounceable and she seems to like Betty. Is it wrong to call my Balinese guardian angel Betty? No. What is wrong is naming a Rottweiler Candy or Mindy. No offense to the Candys and Mindys out there.
Betty isn’t just my guardian angel; she’s also my muse. When Betty is up and running with ideas she’s amazing. At times it feels as though she packs them into my head and then uses a ramrod in my ear as if she’s loading a cannon. Other times it’s like the over packed suitcase she has to sit on to close. Of course there are plenty of times when she’s off somewhere and my head is so empty I can actually hear the tumbleweeds rolling around in there. There was a year or so after I graduated from college where she was gone so long I asked to see ID when she returned.
When Betty is with me she is resolute. At these times she stands by me even when my mood is intolerable or I’m just plain lazy. She will needle at me until I at least write one line or paragraph. I love her most when she makes me go outside and observe nature. She points me in the direction of vast mountain ranges, the stretches of beach or the silent forest. She will point out the tiniest details in a flower or the colors in a fish’s scales. I’ve found myself observing the flora and fauna with such intensity that I’ve been drenched in downpours, burned by the sun and covered in a blanket of snow.
So you can see why Betty is important to me.
She has a big job for a small muse. I think even Betty's tolerance can be pushed to the limits with me at times.
She did message me. She basically told me....Hey dumbass, it's a beautiful day out today and there you sit in your sweater drinking coffee and smoking. I know, I know, the house needs to be cleaned, laundry and dishes need to be done..but....the sun isn't going to stay out until you ready for it nor will the flowers stay in bloom until you sweep the kitchen floor.
Beauty surrounds you and inspires you, you don't need me to point that out, you have eyes don't you?
I hate when she's right.
And another thing... she's persistant... there are stories out there waiting to be told if you just listen. Life is all around you, things are happening. Get off your fat ass and go forth unto the world. I'm going to go work on my tan.
I love Betty, she doesn't shit around. I think I need to give her more credit. She infuses little ideas and visions into my thoughts. If I ignore them too long she kicks my brain to remind me there is a reason for them being there.
You have an artist's soul. She says. Be bohemian. Be free.
I think I shall do just that. I owe Betty a cappucino.
Does anyone else have a personal relationship with their muse(s)? Have you hugged them today?
~Abs~
