“I don’t think I’m going to do that tonight,” I replied without looking her in the eye.
It wasn’t that I was so enthralled with my General Tso’s Chicken, but rather that I couldn’t bring myself to face her obvious disappointment.
“But you always write,” The Muse wailed as she approached the couch.
I could sense her presence, and it took everything in my power to resist. There would not be any writing tonight, no matter how perilously close she hovered.
“Not tonight,” I quipped and reached for the remote control.
I flipped mindlessly through the channels, not because I was looking for the perfect show, but because I needed the distraction.
The Muse stood directly over me now. My mind tingled from the powerful inspiration that flowed from her, but the stories were doomed to rattle around in my head tonight. Not a single word would be set free and put to paper for the world to read.
When the dark clouds come, they cripple my will to be creative.
“You write every night,” The Muse persisted. “I will not allow you to fail…”
“Can’t you see, damn it!” I screamed and hurled the Chinese food container across the room. “I don’t want you here tonight. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. Just leave me the hell alone!”
The transformation was now complete. The dark clouds had consumed me, and I had banished my only ally from my wreck of a life.
Writing was, more often than not, the rope I used to climb from the abyss and reclaim my rightful place in the world. Tonight, however, there would be no escape plan.
The Muse could sense my determination, and she knew better than to try to fight with me when I had dug in my heels and refused to let the stories flow onto the page.
“You will regret this,” she cautioned as she slowly backed away from me and the terror I’d become. “Writers write. They do not hide in the shadows and use the darkness as an excuse to ignore the tales that run wild through their minds.”
“Enough,” I growled menacingly. “What’s in my head belongs to me. If I choose not to share it, that’s my right.”
The Muse vanished, finally allowing me to focus my attention on my inner demons.
There would be no writing tonight.
Not because I didn’t have a story to tell, but because I was afraid of what the dark clouds would inspire me to put on the page.
That was not going to happen, regardless of how stormy my night became.
Not tonight, my dear.