Midnight Muse

Reads: 95  | Likes: 1  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 3

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Spirit Space

Having had a bout of writers block in the past couple of weeks, suddenly this piece came to me.

He was a common writer, one of simple words. What was known as vocabulary didn't intimidate or frighten, he just found  those of extended definition to be of the elite and aloof.

Quite familiar with the period, less so with the comma, the semi-colon could actually disturb. So he would never dare to call himself an author, for it was his personal and heartfelt truth.

From the moment he'd put pen to paper his tales of fantastic adventure would stream onto the page, rippling as a river with and without direction. The realms he had created were the very worlds he himself wanted and had yearned to live in.

Happiest in those magical places, he would spend all the time he could spare outside of the practical there. It was always his destination, the hours flying past as a bird carried by the wind.

Then came the day, as it often does to many, when the free flowing thoughts of before would not rise to mind as they once had. And the wish he'd made to write so again met only a bone dry well.

His pen at the ready it would hover over untouched paper with nothing as the result, and here his fretful worry had offically begun. 

For weeks on end he'd toss and turn within his nightime bed, his restless mind filled with all that was empty. The dreary mornings sunrise found the covers twisted, rumpled and half upon the floor.

He'd sit at his beds edge staring about, sighing, "please come back 'round."

And just when it seemed that the brillant worlds he'd created were only of the past, it was upon one mid-night stroke that his fortune would meet his sad request.

As the final tick met the twelve she appeared before him as he dozed in his easy chair. 

She smiled down and in that moment he felt a summers breeze, and opening his weary eyes they fell upon Melody. Her shimmering silver-blue presence was born of a snowflakes dream, her piercing gaze one amazing mischief, strenght and grace.

It was with blinking eyes and open mouth that he snapped wide awake, his loss of words relfecting every unwritten page.

He stared up in disbelief and her smile widened, "hello...my name is Melody. Your mournful asking called me here...my job is to assist all those who are drawn to the creative. I'm ready and most willing to lend my thoughts to you...and quite naturally you can refuse..." then with a nod, "Stanly my friend...if you might have me...I wish to be your Muse."

And the give and take relation of the writer and she of inspiration had him filling the vacant spaces once again.

Submitted: December 04, 2020

© Copyright 2021 LE. Berry. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:


Serge Wlodarski

Getting the idea is the hard part. Nice story.

Sat, December 5th, 2020 11:32am


So true Serge...thank you for your comment.

Wed, December 9th, 2020 11:50am


I know how he feels not getting any ideas either.

Sun, December 13th, 2020 8:15am


A truth all writers can share...thanks for your comment niah!

Tue, December 15th, 2020 1:44pm

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