On Day One of NaNoWriMo I was at a loss as to where to dive into my project. I write by weaving back and forth between time and characters. I just didn’t know where to begin. So I wrote about my own barn cat who materialized as Mr. Boots.
That makes the real-life Bootsy my 2014 NaNoMuse.
Bootsy was a ranch cat who lived by Elmira Pond long before I arrived. When the Hub and I rented this splendid little piece of Idaho, we were obligated to “feed the barn cat.” It’s in our rental contract. We get reimbursed for kibble purchased and are provided a self-feeder in the garage.
We didn’t see much of the elusive Bootsy that first winter. When I planted my garden, she visited me–once. The Hub occasionally saw her and she always makes an appearance when Rock Climber visits, but Rock Climber is already a crazy cat lady who is single with cats.
Prior to NaNoWriMo, Bootsy began hanging out around the house more often. She has an amazing stare that can get me up from my office chair to the nearest window. And there she is, by the fire ring or in front of the kitty door (to the garage) looking at me. Someone evidently recruited her to be my muse.
What is a muse? Mythologically a muse is one of nine sister-Goddesses who cultivate creative impulses. Simply, a muse is inspiration. Muses can tease, frustrate, beg for kibble and knock over your wine glass. As long as you write, it doesn’t matter what amusements your muse creates. Over at TanGental, we see a muse as providing the Ultimate NaNo Fear.
November 5, 2014 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story inspired by your muse. It can be about a muse, about longing for a muse or being thwarted by a muse. It can be serious or a-musing. It can be prose or poetic. Whatever you and your muse agree upon.
Respond by November 11 to be included in the weekly compilation. Rules are here. And below is my muse and flash offering. Ah, no more Sarah Shull here! But do join me for daily Coffee for WriMos to see Sarah’s story evolve.
Quest of Two Winds by Charli Mills
Two Winds hiked to the peak his Grandfathers called Beehive. Gray rock rippled, shaped like an upturned hive, rising above the tallest of the tall pines. His steps required the aid of his hands and he scuttled like a baby bear to reach the top. No man could walk upright to the Beehive. If he were arrogant enough to try, he’d tumble to a dishonorable death below. Two Winds must reach the top to tie his offering on the old wapiti tine and wait until inspiration answered him. It took many turns of the sun to write a wife-poem.