Diary of a Dead Muse
By Benjamin Goshko (SentientSurfer)
Copyright 2011 Benjamin Goshko
Lindsey's feather-weight Netbook is sitting on the table in front of me. Its coffee spattered keys can't handle my frenetic typing. Every now and then a fingernail slips under one and nearly pops it off on the upstroke.
It's sunny today. Very humid too. When I open the patio door it feels like I've stepped into the shower. My cat curls up on my toes. An oval of warm fur. There's something wrong with his sinuses. Ever since we found him as a kitten, he's wheezed like an old man.
Nothing is coming to me today. I stare at a nearly blank screen. All I have is a title - Diary of a Muse - and a mental image of its protagonist. Twil.
Twil looks like a fairy when I picture her. Buttermilk skin, sparkling green eyes, mischievous dimples next to an almost sinister, thin-lipped smile. She's an overeducated, selfish, immature brat. Anytime I use her in a story, my otherwise loyal readers come to despise her.
She wasn't supposed to be pretty. I never wanted her to be, but can't help but add features to her that make her more alluring. Maybe it's so she continues to hold my interest. I never tire of picturing her. I've given her every hair and eye color.