Rising

Once upon a time, I dreamed of the perfect man, a writer, a musician, a leader whose every word fell on the avid ears of those who adored him. I thought if I could just meet him, my life would be complete. I not only met him, I became his girl friend for a while and discovered that it is harder to be with real people than with dreams. Still, he was a muse beyond imagining. One who still inspires me.

Generosity, brilliance, compassion, sensitivity, these are qualities I love. Wrap them up in sweetness and the inherent cuteness that goes along with it all and you have extraordinary human beings.

I have met several of these in my lifetime. People who become the spark that sets me on fire. People who open the door to my deepest creativity and force me to write.

Words become cathartic. I write because I must, or I will be eaten alive by the passions of my imagination. The steam rising into the ether is filled with hero worship and a knowledge that I must write the imperfections into the story even if I don‘t believe in them, because without them there is no story.

Muses! I don’t even know if you know who you are! Yet you are my reason to rise in the morning and write in the night and if I could give you a fraction of what you give me, you might begin to understand how I feel about you. You fill me so full that I must find a way to empty.