Missing My Muses

The past few years I have been on a writing hiatus! A leave of absence. Perhaps AWOL. Whatever it is, I have missed my 'Muses'--

Elbert Hubbard, Ben Franklin Emerson, Clemons, (Mark Twain), Shakespeare who was there reluctantly, as was Thoreau

In the background observing are, Confucius Socrates and Plato Harriet Beecher Stowe is guarding the door.

In my mind's eye I visualized them on a stage seated at a long rectangular table. Hubbard to the left in profile; Ben facing the audience along with the others, except Thoreau who was in profile on my right as I looked at the stage. Confucius sat in a throne style chair along the wall, behind Thoreau. Plato and Socrates stood along the wall behind the group facing me. Harriet was at a door between the observers.

In my pre-writing meditation, I would visualize them coming on stage, taking their places with Mr. Hubbard calling the group to order.

"Our task is to assist this writer in creating readable prose."

Grumbling and mumbling came from Shakespeare and Thoreau, neither of them wanting to be there. Shakespeare, because I doubted his authorship of the works attributed to him, and Thoreau, because I made less of his sojourn to Walden's Pond than a great stoic adventure.

Mr. Emerson was always extremely kind, reminding them they were summoned to this task and had no choice. He would then look out into the audience, as if knowing I was there, 4th row center, and nod.

Mr. Franklin, who always made me smile, would ask if any of them had considered what I was to write that day (it was during my writing of the "Thinking About" series of essays).

One of the more willing participants would say a word, like faith, or beauty, perhaps life, and I would know to begin writing.

My hands placed on the keyboard, I would type as quickly as the thoughts came into my mind. I would be transported from the vision of the stage and became entranced by the words pouring from my mind onto the word processor.

When the flow stopped, I would print them, put the page or pages into the manila folder on my desk, and go about my day.

When I became immersed in the working world, those sessions ceased. My friends disappeared. It has been ten years. I miss them. Perhaps with effort, I can bring them back into my mental consciousness. It would be a pleasure to have them back.

It would give me great joy to return to my 'Thinking About' series.