Muse Management

“Who are you?” I asked.

It was 6:00 am and the sun was fast asleep somewhere far to the east. This was my writing time, but I was not alone.

In the past, my muse would have been there lounging on my couch, weaving words, spinning fables and giggling at every clever twist of a phrase, but that was months ago.

She was never satisfied with our work and sadly felt that what she needed was to find a muse herself, so off she ran in search of one.

Such things never end well.

First, she suffered through an abusive relationship with a muse named discipline, followed by a tumultuous affair with inspiration, only to rebound to discipline.

And after each heartbreak, she retreated to my couch to console herself with the bucket of chocolate chip ice cream that I keep hidden in the garage freezer.

This time it was not her on my couch. In fact, whoever it was, did not appear to be a muse at all, more like a librarian – at the Pentagon.

Management,” she stated flatly.


“You asked who I am, and I am telling you.  Muse Management to be precise.”

“Never heard of such a thing.”

“Most writers have not. They are too busy writing – but then there is you.”


“My boy, you definitely need a muse and as luck would have it, I have a few available, each with an unique style. I will send them by and we will see who works for you.”

And with that…


She was gone.


“Where’s the remote?”

The dude wore sandals, a tattered bathrobe and random bits of his last meal scattered throughout his beard.

All I could think of to say was,“Huh?”

He dug through the cushions until he found it, wedged under the bag of Doritos I lost last winter.

“Who are you?” I asked.

Click, the TV flickered on.

“You don’t subscribe to Hulu?” he groaned.

“Hey, I’m trying to write here,” I told him.

“That’s okay, it won’t bother me.”

“Again, who are you?”

“Your new muse. You got any pretzels?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping me write?”

“Relax. I’ll come up with something sooner or later. Meanwhile, the TV don’t watch itself.”

“For the third time, who are you?”


“More like Delusion.”

“Yeah, sometimes writers get us confused.”



“I love what you have done there.”

“It’s a blank page.”

“Precisely, so full of hope and promise. You could put anything there.”

WHO ARE YOU? I typed.

“Such a wonderful beginning to the piece, it puts the reader on the edge of their seat.”

I typed the second line. I ASKED, WHO IN THE BLAZES ARE YOU?

“Now, that’s how to amp up the suspense!”


“Oh, you want to know who I am?”






DayGlo colors swirled about the room and intergalactic spies galloped about on bucking unicorns. For a moment, I thought I was experiencing a psychedelic flash-back from my hippie days.

Inspiration, is that you?”

“Yeah? Yeah? I’ve got a billion ideas.”

“Just give me one good one.”

“Why not a million?”



The next muse came straight out of Conan, the Barbarian. It was the mercenary muse who has plagued Diana, over at Myths in the Mirror.

“Out!” I cried.

Discipline and I have never gotten along.




My muse manager was back and her scowl did not bode well for my writing career.

“I am almost out of options,” she confessed.


“Just one more…”



“Do you still have that bucket of chocolate chip ice cream hidden in the garage freezer?”

“Welcome back. Help yourself.”


“Hold on, just one question.”


“In all the years we worked together, I never got your name.”


“Glad to know. Are you back to stay?”

She said nothing – but as she shuffled off toward the freezer in the garage, she seemed to focus on something far, far away.


One can find the full story of My Muse and I here:
My Muse

My Muse’s Bad Day

Breaking Up is Hard to Do, Especially With a Muse.

Author: Almost Iowa

36 thoughts on “Muse Management”

  1. Very amusing, and well written. Although I think you’re on better terms with your imagination muse than I am with mine. Maybe I need a new flavor of ice cream.

  2. I can’t help thinking that if the pretzel muse and the ice cream muse visited me at the same time, I could write anything. It’s the synergy of the two that’d get my imagination going.

  3. Maybe you can get these guys together for a pow-wow. My phone tried to change that to pie-wow, maybe that would be easier.

  4. I like your muse. Not sure about the ice cream though. My muse prefers cookies cause they don’t melt, and they go well with coffee. We have a problem with any and cookie crumbs though.

    1. Crumbs are bad, but then so are chocolate-chip ice cream stains on the couch. Not my couch though, you can’t really stain – stains.

  5. It is any wonder you can get anything done at all with all these muses coming around. I think I like Imagination the best since she seems to do the best work for you. Besides, it’s nice to have company hunched in the garage eating Chocolate Chip ice cream. Fun stuff, Greg.

    1. My muse and I spent many an hour bonding over a bucket of chocolate-chip ice cream, though I think she’ll have to get her own. Covid and all. 🙂

  6. Yeh. That Mercenary Muse cruised through my place, too, muttering things like, “You really oughtta write a book… get on social media…increase your exposure.” I sent him packing. Apparently he made it up north. I suspect all of us have some of the same experiences with the Muses who showed up at your place. The biggest difference between thee and me that I noticed in the post is that I prefer mint chocolate chip.

    I was thinking of you this morning, when I posted on Lagniappe about National Prairie Day. The second photo’s taken not too far from the Bazaar cattle pens.

    1. North of the Brooks Range in Alaska, there is a vast arctic meadow that stretches from Siberia to Hudson Bay. It almost endless and rolls with such grace that it invites you to walk out on it forever. You got to watch out for the bears though. 🙂

  7. Lol. What a riot. Muse Management is having trouble finding a new muse for you, Greg. But Imagination seems like a good fit after all. Maybe Imagination will find Focus and you’ll have two muses. Thanks for linking and Happy Writing. 🙂

  8. Greg – you are wandering into word entomology. Two words. Muse and amusing. The second one being what happens when you wonder what your muse is up or not up to doing. Which leads to scream and ice cream.

    1. One wonders whether scream and ice cream come from the same root. Scream is certainly what Ms. Muse does after too much ice cream.

  9. Thanks for the laughs and delightful post Greg. Just what the doctor ordered during these crazy times. Once upon a time, I participated in these entertaining muse mystery and mayhem posts. I wonder if my muse will return or is permanently MIA?

    1. In times like these it is important to hang onto our humor. I lost it for a few days and this is my attempt at getting it back. Hope your muse stops by for a visit. This is a fun theme.

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