Has anyone seen my muse? I thought she was around here somewhere, wandering through the posts on my blog to look for ideas, but I haven’t seen her for some time. I’m worried that she may have gone wandering off into the darker recesses of my mind and got lost in one of the back rooms.
She often used to take my Spark of Creativity as a flashlight to ferret through the old boxes and drawers in the musty,, dusty caverns that the MindMappers never clean. She has brought forth some wonderful little gems that she used as kindling to which she applied the Spark of Creativity. Then, with some careful nurturing she would build and grow these early flickers into a full-fledged post or even the essence of a short story. Now though, she seems to have got lost and I’ve not seen my Spark of Creativity in a while either.
Perhaps my muse fell asleep back there, with the spark tucked into her gown for warmth. I do hope she is alright. The dark caverns can be dangerous places at times. Back there is where I stable my Night Mares. These are amazing beasts in the hands of an experienced Word Wizard, capable of bringing forth tales beyond the wildest imagination. I am a mere novice, but still, I have found ways to tame their wild spirit for my art. But in the hands of the unwary, the young or the innocent, the Night Mares can wreak untold havoc.
It has been known for the MindMappers to leave open a stable door as they go about their nightly cleaning duties, shuffling away the detritus of another day and filing important snippets for later recall. And when they leave open that stables door, well then the Night Mares will gallop through the caverns and rooms of my mind, kicking over cabinets and mixing up thought and ideas, battering down doors to areas condemned and sealed for my own sanity and safety. It is at times like this, in the darkest hours of night, that the demons and Night mares collide. Unleashed, these demons leap upon the Night Mares and plunder the happy places with their twisted, tormented tales. If the demons were ever to lay hands on my Spark of Creativity, it would be game over. Turn out the lights and leave me alone with the screams and torments. My muse knows the power of my Spark of Creativity and she would give her very life to hold it safe. My worst fear is that my muse may have been caught up in this conflict, and perhaps perished, trampled under wild hooves whilst holding my Spark of Creativity safe against her breast.
If she has indeed perished, then this is a sad day indeed. I prefer not to dwell in such a dark place. I refuse to believe my muse may have given her life protecting that which is most precious to me. I prefer instead to believe that she is off on some epic trek through the snowy mountains and untrodden pastures of my mind in search of bold new tales and misdeeds for my pen, seeking out the elusive germ of an idea greater even than Harry Potter. She will be wandering unknown lands, eager to return with the means to thrust my fragile literary existence to bold new heights, to allow my words to leap from the screen and land on paper, and grow wings again to fly across this brave world to bookshelves far and wide, to there reach an audience beyond the wildest imaginings of this humble apprentice Word Wizard.
Yes, let me believe that my muse wanders deep within the virgin folds of my mind, that she will soon emerge, weary but victorious, clutching to her bosom the kindling of a literary masterpiece. And there, on the foreshore, we will together use the Spark of Creativity to light this fire and set the world ablaze.