I'm not very happy with my muse today. I have an idea tiptoeing around the edges of my brain and it's been there all weekend. it tortures me with the barest of flashes-New Year's Eve, the ball dropping on the masses, wolves and passion-but the story that I know is there refuses to solidify.
To be fair, it must have been Sat morning when I awoke with the clearest of pictures of my next story, but real life reared its busy head and delayed me from writing the idea down. I can see why my muse would now be holding out on me...
So I publicly apologize to my dear muse for not taking notes when I should have and I promise to pay closer attention if you would just come a little closer and, once again, whisper it in my ear.
Much love, your dutiful scribe
