In Absentia

She's not been around much over the last couple of weeks, that Muse of mine. I wonder if I have angered her in some way, or unwittingly ignored her teases. Truth be told I, like many other writers and artists have been so busy lately trying to deal with the snow (for non-UK readers - we're useless over here, can't cope with the lovely white stuff), worrying about poorly children and poorly friends, being abysmally bad at organising and preparing Christmas cards and presents, and of course, getting bogged down by the day job - that I realise all I am is a victim of time. But the Police don't have a Support Service for that.

Tonight, I took out the ghost story I wrote for a national newspaper competition - which didn't get shortlisted - and rewrote some of it. Is it any better? I don't know. I still love it. It still made made me cry, still scared the hell out of me. I want it to find a home - a well-paid home - so I am on the hunt. But picking the story back up has set the sparks off again, and she is back. I'm so glad.

I've now jotted down a disturbing story about unbeknownst love. I have made notes concerning a judgemental and unbidden shadow. There are poems in my head that - not deliberately - break all the rules. And now I am also inspired to write something on Persephone, Dread Queen consort of Hades. The latter will, of course, require me to vacation in Crete again - which will be such a hardship.

This is more of a private ramble than a public display. I don't mean to sound pretentious or up myself; I just needed to clear some cobwebs.

Over now, to judge last week's astounding Prediction entries. Thanks for letting me drone on.

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