Intro: I have not done many fiction writing exercises lately, but at the suggestion of a professor, I can use this time to get back to my love for it, and what better time than doing freewrites with my students? This is kind of a spinoff to my previous thought about “Writing as a Person.” Why not make him my muse as well? I actually liked how this short came out, so I revised it a bit and I’m just throwing this here because my poor blog has been filled with too much book-stuff and clearly not enough writing!
Writing: Muse
Marilag Angway
May 2021
He sits in silent contemplation, perched on a seat as though ready to take flight. He waits in comfortable silence, though the look in his hazel eyes says there is a story brimming beneath the stare. But he doesn’t rush. He sits languid, a bored king on a stable throne. The atmosphere fills with a tension, fine gossamer threads of story escaping his fingertips. He taps the side of his seat, looks again at the woman nearby.
“You should,” he finally says, but she shakes her head subtly, knowing the rest of his words, even before he can utter them in baritone harmony.
“I should,” she murmurs back, her hands shaking. She does not know why this is so difficult; a possible feat, a matter of reaching for the pen, putting words on paper.
It is a matter of life and death. It is not. It is the oxygen she breathes, but she finds herself able to live without it, even if it will lessen who she is.
But he is nothing if not patient. And when she falters, hesitates, he stands, leaves his throne, approaches. He leans in, a slow but steady movement, hones in, focuses on the goal at hand.
“Write,” he says through warm, whispered breath.
She cannot help but answer to his call.
Story and Somnomancy 