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I’ve got a blank page on the screen, and so many thoughts careening in my head. What the hell’s wrong with people these days? What happened to …
My Muse bursts into my writing office. “Don’t.”
“‘Don’t’ what?”
He closes my laptop. “Don’t do it, love. You write fiction.”
“So do all the politicians, and a good portion of the media.”
He nudges me away from my desk, then leans against it in front of me. “Yes, you’re right. Stay out of it.”
I rock back in my chair, filled with the frustration of seeing and hearing things I can’t do anything about. “I’m a writer. I have to write about it. Did you read the letter to the editor in the local paper last week? Oh. My. God. Are there really that many short-sighted, narrow-minded people in this country?”
He reaches to me. “Come here, love.”
I don’t take his hand. Instead, I look up at him. He’s wearing faded cutoffs, deck shoes (no socks) and a muscle shirt that leaves no question he’s in very fine condition. Sigh. His sandy blond hair is mussed just enough to add a roguish charm to his appeal. “Why?”
“Because you need a break from all the depressing rhetoric out there.”
“I need to write something. I need to remind people to think for themselves, and not listen to all the crap everyone is slinging like so much shit in a monkey cage. Why do they have to dwell on the bad stuff? Why can’t they talk about all the good stuff that happens? All the good stuff people do?”
“You know why. Good stuff doesn’t get as many ratings as the bad stuff. And you know they sensationalize it to get even more ratings. Hell, writing’s the same way. Look at that 50 Shades book. Sex sells. So do the angry rantings of narcissistic sociopaths.” He curls his fingers in a come-along gesture. “C’mon, love.”
“I want to tell people to think for themselves. Get their heads out of their asses. Why can’t they stop listening to people who play on their fears? How do they think the ball started rolling toward World War II? Do they even remember history? Those that don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. Why can’t people see that?”
“Because when people are angry and afraid, they stop listening to reason.”
“Stop listening? Seems like they stop thinking, too. Gawd, people need to think about what matters in the grand scheme of things outside their little patch of ground. People need to remember the core of what their prophet of choice preached. Every major religion promotes peace, harmony, and treating others as you want to be treated. Every. Single. One. Why don’t people get it?”
He plants his fists on his hips. “Stop that.” He grabs my arm and yanks me to my feet so fast I have to catch myself on his very nice chest. He smells like summer, that scent of refreshing lakes and fresh-cut clover. “This is not the venue, and you know it.”
I try to push away. He keeps me close, tips my face up with a finger under my chin. His blue eyes reflect the calm of clear skies. “Let that energy go, love. It doesn’t help your stress or your writing.”
“Let me go.” I can’t bring myself to struggle. He feels like a refuge of sorts. I slump against him. “You’ll stay close, right? I’m hammering on yet another revision of my WIP. I need to get it done. I want to send it off before the reunion.”
“I’ve been close. Even restocked the fridge.”
“Chocolate, too?”
He gives me a reassuring hug. “Of course.”
“You’re a good Muse. I think I’ll keep you around.” I don’t tell him he’s too sexy to fire. 😀
Sorry this post is off my usual schedule. Just venting, y’all. I apologize ahead of time if I offend anyone. I needed to vent, which I typically don’t do, but man, the world is going crazy. I’m turning comments off for this post, because I don’t want to bait the trolls. They’ve got bridge work to do. Just wish they’d build them instead of tearing them down.