Haunted by The Muse

Gail Kavanagh, freelance journalist, formerly a journalist with News Limited lives in Sydney Australia shares her insights into the power of the muse. Her Muse first came to her when she was a kid, saying "Wouldn't this game of 'Cowboys and Indians' you're playing make a great story?" She read voraciously as a child and wanted to be Enid Blyton. She still does.

My muse is lying stretched out on a pile of note, half written stories and research material. Maybe she is trying to stop it blowing away.
My muse has seen a lot of our shared inspirations disappear. Crammed into boxes that got lost on our travels, consigned to the flames in frustration, or just gone when the computer crashed. I regret those lost stories more than she does.
My Muse shrugs. We'll think of more, she says... if it was that good, you'd have hung on to it anyway.

My muse reminds me, whispering in my ear, of the things we've done and the places we've seen, the people we've met and the richness of experience we've gathered together. We never lose anything, she reminds me. And the better we get the more justice we can do to all this stuff. My muse has travelled with me across the oceans and over the land, pointing out the castles in Spain, nudging me in the ribs when we meet an interesting character and laughing with me when we discover that all those wonderful, sonorous French people are talking about their bills and Aunt Celestine's arthritis, like everyone else.

My muse goes off with the pixies sometimes, disappears for days on end with her backpack and her hiking boots, then comes back and says, guess what I found, let's get to work... She is used to unusual places, midnight notebook raids and forays into new styles and technology. She is always looking for the funny side and the sunny side, even when I want to be serious... Oh come on, she urges, surely we can get a laugh out of this? Sometimes I think my muse just hitched a ride with me because she had nothing better to do at the time.

She's always dancing along the road, swinging her back pack and looking back at me to see if I've caught up. We get along fine now, although I think my serious ambitions when we first met amused her.

OK, she says now, just as long as we have fun as well.

She opens her backpack, spilling the contents on the floor.

Look what I've found, she says... you had this hidden away in the back of your head. Let's see what we can do with it...

And we are off on our travels again.