The last two years have been stressful to say the least. It's never easy dealing with illness. When it's a parent and a final illness, it's doubly hard. At least for me.
I've been using that as my excuse about why I'm not writing: "I've already got so much stress in my life, why would I want to spend what little free time I have writing suspense?"
Sounds pretty good as an excuse, but Muses don't like excuses. More importantly, they also don't like to be ignored. My particular Muse tends to be a lot like Tinkerbelle: make her your bosom companion and she sparkles; ignore her and she'll pout and head for someone who'll pay her more attention or maybe take off on a long safari to the heart of Africa.
Luckily, my Muse likes Starbucks, chocolate, city lights, and running water nearly as much as I do. I mean what in the Serengetti can compare to a nice Venti Mocha Frappe with Double Whip? Okay, so you get my point.
Any way, my dear muse has recently been sending me messages. Unfortunately, they usually arrive in the middle of some meeting at work or during my pastor's Sunday homily. But, hey, that's why I always carry a pen and pad in my purse or pocket.
So this week, I'm reconnecting with her. I took a week's vacation, and I'm determined to make her feel welcome. If that involves drinking a lot of Mocha Frappes to do so-- well, I'm willing to make the sacrifice.
It's a tough gig, but someone has to do it. I'll let you know how it goes!
~ Stephanie
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