The Muse Beckons Again
It's time for me to snap out of the real world and back into my own quiet, sheltered, dear little space where I am at one with the universes in my mind. I've spent the last month dealing with the sorts of things that stifle creativity, only to wake up the day before yesterday to discover my muse: well-rested, impatient to begin, she sat on the edge of the bed and swung her foot irritably until I got out of bed and went to my study.
And for the first time in months, I locked the door. This is the universal signal of "Mom is busy; don't knock until you've lost two pints of blood."
I have missed my divinity, my absolute omnipotence over the worlds that drift through my study. I have five of them pinned to my walls at the moment.
Asphodel: huge, still-growing, and vibrant. Asphodel beckons me, compels me. It seems that she still has stories to tell.
The darkworlds and dreamworlds of Darkshifters: nebulous, sinister, twining around my head as I stare at the infinity I tried to encompass there. It screams at me, demands that I complete its tales.
Terella: bound and captive, clustered at my knees. Still in its infancy, pleading with me to help it take its first steps into fulfillment.
And then, there are the other two. These embryos develop daily--a little here, a little there, and now I can see the twisted paths they follow. Their lives are still uncertain, clamoring for my attention away from the worlds that have enslaved me for years.
I find myself breathless at the prospects before me. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff just before you make the jump, wondering if the bungee cord will break under your weight. The adrenaline is amazing. The anticipation is agonizing. Even now, I sit outside on my deck as night descends over the hills that cluster along the horizon and I hear the muse calling me impatiently.
It is time to begin.