I sit here, staring at the blank page, waiting for my muse to strike. But it seems that the moment I completed the first round of edits on my second book, the bum decides he’s earned a weekend vacation in Bora Bora.
But there are more words out there, I tell him as he’s whistling and grabbing his swim trunks. I still have stories to tell. You can’t leave now. What about Miranda and Bastian? They hang in the balance and you just want to sip Mai Tais and call it a day?
I don’t think so, pal.
He flashes me a dazzling smile before zipping up the suitcase. He pats me on the head as I sit dejectedly on the edge of the bed. They’ve waited this long. What’s a couple more days?
I glare at him, my hands tucked into my armpits. No, I say. I AM the author and I am in charge. YOU are my muse and I command you to inspire me.
Wouldn’t it be nice if it were that easy?
So, instead of having my hero save the girl and the world, I sit here, staring at the blank page, and watch the light breeze fan the bamboo in the backyard.
Maybe I should join him?
Nah. Never was a huge fan of umbrella drinks.