While one on-line source identifies Erato as the muse of erotic poetry and Kleio, the muse of history, I have never been quite sure which one supports my writing. While I tend to lean towards the erotic poetry keeper of the flame of my contributions, I can't dismiss Kleio out-of-hand either. Now, if there was a muse for erotic history I might be able to find a home there. Whoever she is, or in whatever form she takes with my output, my Muse is on vacation. I do not have writer's block. I have plenty of ideas, threads, conversations, characters and plot lines to last me for some time. It's just that my Muse is off somewhere gallivanting with satyrs and other beasts of the forest.
Everyone deserves a
vacation, now and then, and I am convinced, without question, that
writers also need to take a break from their laptops and legal pads.
Someone, wise and wonderful, once opined that we need to take time to
stop and smell the roses. Okay, as I write this, I'm making the rounds
of rose gardens, baseball games, summer theater, and curb-side stands
where lemonade is sold for a quarter by the neighborhood cute-kids.
won't be long now before I start sharpening my pencils and putting my
fingers to the keyboard. And then, all will be well with my corner of
the world and my Muse(s) will again be lolling behind me whispering into
my ears. But for now, there's another rose to smell and I don't have to
think of words to describe how it affects my senses.