An Apology

In college I majored in the arts and because of this I was subject to an abundance of stimulating conversation about all sorts of things that are supposed to shape our lives but often have little effect on a day to day basis. This; however, is not the case on one specific topic. It would appear that most of us who class ourselves as students of the arts have adopted a sort of fairy god mother. A small mythical creature who is responsible for all of our amazing, awe inspiring, nearly super human abilities to create music, words, and images.

Yes. We do not simply sit at a keyboard and type words, or pluck a few strings on an instrument, or arrange some colors on a piece of paper. We are in fact super naturally inspired to choose the correct word, note, or color by a mythical beast who graces us with its skills. I am of course speaking of the Muse.

How or when I became acquainted with the Muse is of course far less important than where it is at this very moment. It is standing behind me. I can feel it staring at the back of my head. I can feel its tiny claws on my shoulder for unlike the gentle fairy god mother I had heard so much about the Muse is actually an Imp. OW!!! Errr a well mannered friendly little sprite who often comes to help us in our creative endeavors.

I now believe, having become better acquainted with the Muse, that this misconception is an honest one as the Muse can often be helpful; allowing us to complete whole projects flawlessly and at the absolute peak of our abilities. The flaw lies in not recognizing the times when with a deadline looming we stare at the page praying for the Muse to bless us only to have it run into the bathroom and hide. I have often at such times heard the Muse giggling softly just within earshot as I searched frantically for it. Although at present I have a slightly different problem.

In searching through rather old and dusty books I keep about my house I came across an interesting piece of writing left by some obscure and no doubt long dead writer. According to my source the Muse finds jokes about its stature to be particularly loathsome. And so as I was preparing for this post, and found the Muse lacking in the spirit of cooperation, I lashed out in a fit of irritation with several jokes I remembered from my youth.

I think it is only proper for me to relate that this is not only an option in poor taste but that it can land one in rather hot water. The Muse having become quite irate at my poorly advised attempt at humor grabbed one of my family members hostage and is threatening bodily harm to my person unless I make a rather public apology. And so I would like to say to the Muse and to anyone else out there who finds themselves particularly challenged in the height department... I'm Sorry.