I once broke up with a perfectly fine Muse via email. He responded by saying he enjoyed my fiction writing and I was welcome to break up with him again, which I did. Often. Sometimes I broke up with him just to entertain my friend Solo Flower, who was also a fan of my fiction.
But when my Big Spirit Sister suggested that I try not to blow things up with the Almost Muse, I put down my fiction. I agreed to date the Almost Muse instead— because I wanted to be with him. I could not have foreseen that he would yell at my dog, liken me to The Dude, and tell me I wear old lady clothes in a Lululemon world. I didn’t know he was a recovering fiction writer, too.
After the break up and twenty something emails later, I had said almost every non-fiction thing I wanted to say to the Almost Muse. It was then I noticed that I had also said almost everything I had ever wanted to say at all, to anyone— it was like my life’s work (including retrospective) was complete and shockingly, I had given it all to one person who didn’t want it.
Solo Flower listened as I read my work aloud. “It’s more of an outline than it is a complete work,” she said, “Get busy.”
There is work to do.
I love my work.
Photo: "Yelling," acrylic on canvas, Rachel Kice, 2018, words by Matthew Specktor from his book "American Dream Machine"