[Kiss & Tell] Of Muses

[Butterflykiss]

O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention. ~from Henry V, 1599, by William Shakespeare



How many times do I see it each day, right here on Elliquiy? My muse is gone! My muse has failed me! My muse isn’t working!

It seems the Love/Hate relationship between one and one’s Muse is quite the experienced phenomena. This is hardly unexpected. After all, writing is a creative, literary art, subject to those fickle goddesses. It is no wonder we lament their existence, even as we are slave to their whims.

Let us now muse on muses.

How well do you know your Muse? Do you know what she likes and doesn’t like? What time of day does she find herself to be naturally energetic? What are her preferences when it comes to storytelling? How do your behavior and your actions affect her?

I want you to meet my Muse.

Be warned. He’s not the type of man you bring home to meet your mother.

--

My Muse is a Man.

He is tall and lean. He is handsome, with a charming disarming smile.

I’m not sure how we first met. Was it over coffee, as my thoughts drifted while I stared out the window, pondering plot lines and character flaws? Was it in the library, as I perused the aisles, sifting through works by those who had, at least once, come to terms with their Muses? Was it at the office, a casual meeting by the water fountain when something, a nearby conversation, an image, inspired me?

Our first date made it clear he was way out of my league. He was so worldly, so experienced. I, a novice still, fell helplessly to his advances. He seduced me. Whispering soft words into my ear, describing how things might be between us.

And I fell in love.

--

My Muse is a Gentleman.

He wears fine suits, because he likes to appear professional. He has an office with an open door policy, with glass doors that speak of honesty, as if he has nothing to hide. When I come to visit, he opens the door for me, pleased that I’ve dropped by. We sit and chat, we go over details. We discard some things, add others, and reach agreements. I have to lean in to listen. He tends to speak softly.

Sometimes he visits me instead. I might be standing in the kitchen, going about some mundane task. Then I feel those familiar arms encircle me from behind. I falter, I try to continue my work.

But he is persistent when he has something to say. And the words, whispered sweet somethings, are tempting and convincing.

I drop what I’m doing and go with him.

--

My Muse is a Devil

Sometimes, when I go to visit him, he isn’t there. The glass office is dark and empty. How can this be? We had an appointment. Shocked, confused, I stand indecisively, waiting for him to return.

Sometimes for hours. Sometimes for days.

I cry, I rage. Where has he gone? Is he courting someone else? Has he abandoned me?

His return always takes me by surprise. By then I’ve left and resumed the normal motions of life, shaky but determined to continue on without him.

But he whispers in my ear once again, and his guiding hand is warm and strong. So confident that he knows what’s best for me. For us.

I go back to him time and time again.

--

My Muse is like any Lover.

He is temperamental, fickle by nature. He does as he pleases with no regard to my feelings.

Like the fool I am, I do my best to please him. I console, I plead. Sometimes we have The Talk. I try to be stern with him, to tell him that I’ll have no more of his mood swings and distemper. I do my best to change our relationship into something more productive, less chaotic.

It never works.

--

I cannot say he has my heart, though it is sometimes affected by his mood. No, my Muse is not the keeper of my soul or my body.

Except for one vital part of me.

My Muse always has my ear. Should he care to whisper into it.

[Chevalier des Poissons]

Very nice, butterfly. Well, I have only one thing to say: I am your muse. J/k =3

(But I fit in 90% of that description, seriously)

[Jag]

That was a wonderful read, Butterfly.

[jouzinka]

A beautiful read indeed. Very inspirational. :-)

[Saerrael]

...your muse oddly reminds me of mine. Only mine headbangs to Slipknot and is probably friends with my typo demon named Ben.
But besides that.. spitting image of the bloke! ...Think we share the same Muse?

*Gasps in shock.*

[Butterflykiss]

Saerra: I heard rumors mine was running around with some hot chick. Was that you, Serra??  ;)


Thank you all so much for reading~

[Skye]

butterflykiss, I ♥ this!

[Butterflykiss]

I ♥ that you ♥ it, Reign!

[Autumn52]

Butterflykisses,
    I want you to know that not very often, but on occasion I get chills and a deep feeling of satisfaction when I read something. It touches a part of me that I didn't know even existed. I think you should know that the story of your muse has done just that. Thank you. You are truly a wonderful and gifted writer and I hope you never lose your muse because it would be a terrible loss to the world.

Hugs and Kisses
Xandi

[Butterflykiss]

Thank you, Xandi~

It really means so much to me that others enjoy my work.

I'll try to keep a handle on my Muse, as you said. I hope that you and your Muse can enjoy many wonderful adventures together as well.

Sincerely,
butterflykiss

[MasterMischief]

I never personified my muse.  I guess I do not even think much about it except when it leaves me.  I sit there wondering why I suddenly do not feel creative.  Then I usually wander off to find something to grab my attention.  Maybe I am just as fickle as my muse.

[Wistful Dream]

This was just beautiful dear! ~loves on~ You truly are a talented writer and a very thoughtful person, makes me so happy to know you.

[Sultrynets]

Beautifully written. Though I have never personified my muse except to say that it is in fact a female and extremely fickle... I enjoyed this immensely and thought how fitting it is with my muse and probably more than a few of Elliquiy's muses.

[Beguile's Mistress]

I enjoyed this Butterfly, but then I enjoy everything you write (all of what I've read, so far).

Like some, I don't personify my muse which seems to be an amorphous being dwelling where it wants.  I think it may live in the same place my characters come from, slipping in and out of shadows to enjoy the light.  I may learn more about my muse, though, as we spend more time together.  You see, I only met my muse three months ago when I started writing.

[Butterflykiss]

Thank you, to all the readers~<3

May you and your Muses dance intricate dances for years to come.

[Senti]

If I may add to this I have a number of muses …hmm let me think… it’s a small fat goblin that prods me with sticks and plays a drum at nights. A Tree that is a Queen though is linked to her King, a dark rabbit, and some cloth creatures.

Perhaps they are not romantic but they are hard masters.

[MasterMischief]

May I borrow your goblin?

[Senti]

You may indeed.

but I would like him back.

[Milanthe]

I wish MY muse was like that...  *Goes over and looks at her muses who fill a whole house and have formed a union against her and sighs as they've heard her*  For the love of...  I didn't mean it!  *Is then pelted with writers blocks*

[mannik]

This was indeed an excellent read, and I must confess, I'm a bit jealous.

My muse is more like a zombie. It wanders in at the most inconvenient times, completely devours my brain, then awkwardly limps off and leaves me staring blankly at my computer screen as I struggle to put coherent sentences together.

[Oreo]

That was lovely, Butterfly. I need to get out and read more, instead of wondering where my muse has wandered off to. Inspiration has been more perspiration of late. Though my muse is a woman, I confess - she is no lady. I look forward to more of your writing.

@mannik, >.> I hope your muse stays away. It sounds painful.

[Mistress Sorcha]

This was gorgeous, Butterfly, and it affected me deeply.

Your Muse visits me on dark nights once he's helped you, I think, although he does not come to me often. Once he is done with you, though, he is no longer quite that sweet. Demanding, hissing seduction into my ear while forcing me against the desk.

I have a different Muse for poetry. My romantic side takes over, and little wisps of ethereal light stream into my consciousness, showing images like school projections of new subjects.

The second is easier to handle, but the first is often more rewarding once the experience is over. *shudders*

[Roidecinq]

Wonderful writing, though I feel the need to share my view. Which is a compliment, I'd say.

Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;

Shakespeare #38.


I have never personified my 'muse'. I've found inspiration in many things, including persons. But it was always strangely lucid to me, that it was 'my view' that inspired me. A new viewpoint as it were. A truly beautiful woman might be worth of writing about, but it's the sudden movement of her hair, a sparkle in her eye (cheesy, I know), which elicits the inspiration. For me it is the experience.

That, or I have not yet found my muse...

[cere]

A defining study in museology Butterfly - wonderful to read...I wonder which of your muses prompted that delicious piece?

My muse?  Is a trickster, a practical joker and an ear puller!  He swans around doing bugger all, hands in his pockets, kicking tins on the street kind of thing, thinking that he can come along and interrupt my train of thought anytime he wants to...and sure, he does just that...every time I sit down!. Even when I'm asleep, he wakes me up...he's the insomniac, not me...I should tell him this!

My fingers fly South on the keyboard when I'm thinking North, we never seems to agree on any single point...it's so exasperating.  But he does have one redeeming feature...he is always right!

[Butterflykiss]

Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;

Shakespeare #38.

Beautiful, and thank you for sharing it, Roidecinq~ I've had quite a few people tell me that they don't imagine their muses in human form, so to speak, and others who tell me that they have. I think perhaps that it has something to do with whether you are a visually oriented person. I myself am very visually oriented. For example, if you're giving me directions to a place I've never been, I do much better with a drawn map than I do with a list of instructions on where to turn and how far to go. So when I think about "What is my muse like?" I get a mental image of him and what sort of person he is. The image works for me because it speaks about his personality. I don't have to tell you that he's neat and sly, you can tell because I imagine him in a crisp and expensive suit with a charming smile.

A defining study in museology Butterfly - wonderful to read...I wonder which of your muses prompted that delicious piece?

I love this term you've used, cere~! I see that some of the writers here have many, many muses! A team of them, so to speak, working behind the curtains to produce a work of creativity. I myself only have the one. I think if there were others at any time, he may have killed them. He's quite the alpha male, you see.

I've so enjoyed hearing about all of your muses and your thoughts on Museology, everyone~

[curiousjames]

As I'm new to listening to my muse I would describe it as forever changing person morphing between man and women sometimes obsessed other times frittering from one thing to the next like a bad case of ADHD unable to complete one imagining before moving to another. If only I knew it as well as you know yours

thank you for the beautiful ways in which you have all described yours.

[dready]

Twas a beautiful read for myself. ^^ I'd like to introduce you to my muses as well. (borrowing your initial style, if i might do such)

My muse is of Ink. She splashes images on pages with every movement of grace apon the paper of my imagination. Her shape allows her full control on the details and visual textures to show me what I wish to become, her illustrations never leaving my mind with ease. On the calmest of days the paper is flat and stiff to the touch, allowing for her images to be shown clear through to my eyes as she draws before me in assistance, which is enjoyed. On chaotic days she cannot help herself in her enjoyment of her inkings, accidentally tearing the paper in my mind on sharp turns and angles, deterring from the image she wishes to portray. She supports me when I wish to draw, and consoles me when my work is not within comparison to hers. She has yet to be bested by my art, but she would congratulate me once I do.

My muses are chisels. They show me stories through the etchings and scrapes along my form in which I find fascinating. They sometimes argue like the twins they are, sometimes taking conflict to me as a judge though I cannot always pick the best answer. They are relentless in their urge to know more, and have pushed me through stories of knowledge and information in attempts to have me show them more than I would want to know. They are supportive though, and break through any deterring effects on my writings with ease, allowing me to follow their stories as much as I wish. They are open minded, and allow me to speak to one another with ease, especially when I suggest a separate route in which neither of them perceived before, as we enjoy our collections of stories in which we have carved together.

My muse is a flame. The brush of fire burns me as the colors flash out of focus before dying too quickly for me to remember what even happened inside of the fires of color. My eyes have burned for far too long under the urges to create a piece of art with colors and shades that match, but the burning muse of mine destroys the thoughts as she passes by, possibly not even recognizing my existence in the first place. My muse gazes apon my other muses in disgust, insulting them and their cause though doing nothing other than showing faults and not even attempting to make better of herself. My color dies often, and revives at the slightest spark to remind me of my downfalls and failures in my creations, her words biting my skin and singe the flesh with ease where she hasn't already numbed from her onslaught. My muse doesn't understand, and she never will. My muse burns herself to ashes, crying as she doesn't know what to do as she wishes for help, in which I cannot refuse. My muse thanks me with burns and blisters, but gives me the drive to fulfill my goals.

My muses don't care what I think, as long as I don't lose sight of what I know is important.

[EroticWinged]

Butterfly, that was awesome and inspirational, both!  Thank you for sharing.

[torioto]

That was most gratifying to read. Q(-_-)Q ----->m(_ _)m