MuseFeed


I haven’t actually lost my voice, which is kind of a miracle because my throat feels like I’ve been gargling broken glass. I made it most of the way through afternoon before giving in and walking to the drug store to get some throat spray. Which helps for about thirty seconds at a time. I should just get a nose tube installed so I can have a constant drip of it. Which would probably mean dying a cherry flavored death since you’re supposed to use only ONE SPRAY on affected areas, and are supposed to spit it out afterwards.

But at least my throat would stop hurting.

Aside from the sore throat, I feel fine. But it’s kinda all I can think about, so my work has been riddled with errors and my writing is uninspired. It hasn’t actually stopped me from doing either thing: the writing isn’t good, but darn it I’m going to put down words anyway.

I’ve come to realize that Muses, like any other creature, needs to be fed. And they feed on bad writing- the nonsense that nobody will ever see, the sicky sweet sentiment and ham handed exposition, the schmaltzy romance… They slurp up those tangled ink lines like spaghetti and come back for more. More. MOAR!

The Muses must feed!

It’s kind of like befriending a feral cat: if you leave food out often enough they will come around. And sometimes they might favor you with a head butt or a slow blink. They might even leave you some inspiration: the Muse equivalent of dropping a dead bird on your doorstep.

So I apologize to you, the reader, if today is less than Pulitzer worthy- just think of it as “behind-the-scenes” additional content.

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~ by Gwydhar Gebien on July 25, 2018.

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