A letter to my muse of writing; stories brim over my skull cap

A  letter to my Muse:

 Just thought I’d let you know that I am grateful for the many, may images, dreams, and small inputs during my writing exercises which formed into these little pillows, usable for publishing. You warned me that its not if everyone likes it- only that I write it. The fragments, like pieces of bone have finally knit together.  Adam’s rib, snatched from Eve made her woman. The sinews, the muscle and skin have fully formed and you told me: “Don’t worry. That is the easy part.”

You never told me what the hard part was. I just assume its the part about everyone liking my stuff. But who worries over that? I write to purge and entertain equally, but who am I lying to? I do care about the downloads, the purchaes, the social media, comments, and reviews. You never taught me marketing, I had to go to school or speak with my husband about that.

Writing is so much harder than I thought. Imagining is great. Dreaming- wonderful. But creating from beginning to end, and choosing whether to know the ending or not is merciless to my soul.

I can say this though. Even if I don’t know, I have files, and files saved of stories from my head. They brim over my skull cap and I can’t see during the day as I walk to the library, shop, as I read a book. You throw these heroines in my head who have dazzling hair, or poor dispositions, and then thrust them into possible impossible situations and then I am left wondering: When? I can’t get them down fast enough.

Listen. I like you and I thank you for what you have done for me and will continue to do. Just one suggestion?

Stop pouring all the stories in at once and please if you love me- get some marketing skills and psychic ability!

Just kidding, I’m okay.

No really….


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