Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Rough Old Broad

If I have a Muse she's a rough old broad. Her breath smells like candy-colored fennel seeds you scoop at the end of an Indian meal. Her wears her hair in a big bun. I like to imagine she has wings, little transparent ones, like an overweight fairy godmother.

She might have been a diner waitress, because she says things like, "Hon. You call that a sentence?" She likes to dance. I think she's no bigger than a thimble, but has a big Napoleonic complex, and suffers from delusions of grandeur when she says, "You should make that more Keats-y, hon."

No leftover apple pie is safe around her. She prefers things a la mode. When it comes to jewelry and especially to ropes of pearls the answer is always "Pourquoi non?" She loves a good time. I think she might live in a yurt. She keeps pigs. She has a cauldron. She's some esoteric form of Wiccan, and has a Celtic bent.

"A smidge" is how she refers to me. "C'mon, smidge, get crackin'" she says, and, "Stop describing me as if I were Queen Mab out of Mercutio's speech in Romeo and Juliet. I'm, like, her daddy."

4 comments:

  1. she sounds like the best Muse of all. I love your writing to death! molly

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  2. Elizabeth, I saw this post link in Molly Campbell's Twitter feed and had to see what she was raving about. Would you consider guest posting on my blog someday? Tweet me @MollyGreene

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  3. This is beautiful. -Julie

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  4. I like your muse. You certainly couldn't pull the wool over her eyes.

    My muse is playing hide-n-seek with me. It's been going on for a while.

    Do love your writing. You, and the muse, are doing a great job!

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