Looking back on all this now, I wonder if in fact anyone is ever completely alone, or if there is perhaps a dark squiggle of something that sticks with us, whether we know it or not.
As I got better acquainted with my muse, our relationship changed as relationships tend to do when given practice. In some ways, it became more complex. In the most basic ways, our relationship became more basic. Basically basic, very simply simple, but in a rather girly way that made it all much more complicated than necessary.
My black tangle muse showed me all sorts of dragons. She explained about the ant-like creatures, which is truly a whole other story.
One day, my muse visited me and there were no dragons or creatures of any sort. She showed me a young girl, a clearly human person.
I waited, but not much really happened. There was just the other girl, sort of looking back at me, as if waiting for me to do or say something.
Well? I thought. Will you make introductions?
The girl seemed visibly confused.
“An introduction would be the proper thing to do here,” I spoke clearly but quietly.
But it was the girl and not my muse who responded, and she gestured with her hands and a little aggressively shrugged her shoulders at me.
“Why should I make introductions?” I asked. “You came to me.”
The girl rolled her eyes, and in a swath of thick fog, she was gone. That was it. I figured I’d never see her again, but I was wrong about that. I know now of course who she was, but at the time I was at a complete loss. The girl, well, young woman actually, was Alathea. Over the years, I‘ve gotten to know her quite well, and she is the protagonist in many of my imaginings. Some of those moments have made it to the page, and some are waiting to be recorded.
Over the years, I’ve been witness to many extraordinary things with my black tangle of a muse.
There have been many other interesting characters since Alathea, since my first dragon ride. But I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. I should pull back a little bit, rein in and slow down. It’s hard to do when it’s your own story. You always want to skip the really embarrassing or shaming parts, and get right to the moments where you’re most brilliant and your hair is especially gorgeous.
Those times seem few and far between, rather thin. I should really work on that, develop it. Hair grows slowly, and apparently my brain isn’t all that quick either. But I’ve managed to have some moments in my life when I didn’t botch a tale too terribly, or at least not permanently. Editing is essential; that, and the will and patience to rewrite, endlessly.
I always do my best to make it good. A good story shouldn’t end until there’s a good way to end it. I don’t think it’s even necessary to ask my muse about that particular point.
It’s simply what makes for a really good yarn, after all.