The Muse and the Mouse
Once upon a time, there was a Muse. Sometimes, once in a very long while, she would sidle into your mind, fill your thoughts, and gently but inexorably push you to pen and paper. Never mind that you never could adequately translate those thoughts to words.
Enter the Mouse. That cute, seductive, sneaky, destructive little rodent. Or, as Burns so much better put it, the "wee, sleekit, cowrin timrous beastie". And your writerly life is taken over by rodental habits -- continually nibbling at titbits, making little sorties here and there to uncover crumbs, twitching your nose at something, feeling something else with quivering whiskers, darting off at an elusive smell, starting in terror at an unusual sound, singing in a squeaky treble...
Exit the Muse in a huff.
Enter the Mouse. That cute, seductive, sneaky, destructive little rodent. Or, as Burns so much better put it, the "wee, sleekit, cowrin timrous beastie". And your writerly life is taken over by rodental habits -- continually nibbling at titbits, making little sorties here and there to uncover crumbs, twitching your nose at something, feeling something else with quivering whiskers, darting off at an elusive smell, starting in terror at an unusual sound, singing in a squeaky treble...
Exit the Muse in a huff.
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Read, Write and Left
Blog of a somewhat indiscriminate reader and gauche (in the French sense of course) writer.
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