“Is this the right place?” A young woman checks a sheet of paper before knocking on the door.
The man beside her takes the paper. “I’m pretty sure it is.” He scans the area. “Seems quiet.”
The door opens. A tall man, rougish in looks and dressed in indigo jeans and a fisherman’s sweater greets them. “Glad you made it,” he says, Australian accent calling to mind images of Uluru and the Sydney Opera House. He steps aside and ushers them in. “I’m her Muse. If you have any questions, just ask.” He leads them into an office where a small round table with four chairs is set with mugs, a plate of chocolate chip cookies, and a notebook and pen.
“Hang on.” The man pulls off his gloves and stuffs them into his Minnesota Golden Gophers knit hat. “Why are we here?”
“She needs to get to know you, so I figured I’d invite you here. The rest is up to her. I’ll take your coats.”
The scent of vanilla-macadamia nut Kona coffee permeates the air, melding with the aroma of fresh-baked cookies. The new arrivals hand over their coats to the Muse, who leaves them alone in the office. The woman shrugs. “Coffee and cookies. Not bad.” She sits and pours a mug of coffee for herself and her companion. “He seems nice.”
“Uh-huh. I saw you eyeing him.”
“Hey, a girl can look, can’t she?”
“Are you freaking kidding me? What the hell were you thinking?”
“You need to talk to them.”
“I’m almost finished, only a couple more chapters to go. I don’t need to have coffee with them. And I never said you could use my good Hawaiian coffee.”
My Muse plants his hands on my shoulders. “Go and talk to them, love. Trust me.”
I grumble. He’s never done this before. “Fine.” I wave a finger at him. “Don’t ever do this again.” Somehow, I know he won’t listen to me. He does what he thinks will help me the most with my writing, which is his job, after all. I head into my writing office.
My–no, my Muse’s guests are enjoying my treasured Hawaiian coffee and fresh cookies. Quinn’s sitting with his back against the wall in full view of the door, carrying the wariness of a cop. Sierra’s beside him, her white lock of hair even brighter against her almost-auburn hair than I imagined. They both look up as I start to close the door.
My Muse slips in and nudges me toward an empty chair. “This is your writer, Julie. She’s got some questions for you.”
Seriously? I’m guessing the notebook is for me. I open it to the first page. Sure enough, my Muse has written some starter questions for me. I’ve heard of taking your characters to dinner, but come on. I never thought I had that much trouble getting to know my MCs.
“Before we start,” my Muse says, “let me set things up. You,” he points to Quinn, Sierra, then me, “are here to learn about each other. Think of this as a meeting between fellow writers discussing your books.”
Well, this should be interesting.
Hope everyone’s staying warm. We’ve got an official National Weather Service Wind Chill Warning for tonight through tomorrow. I went out to get the mail, and felt fortunate I chose to drive rather than bundle up and walk out. Our property is surrounded by fields. As soon as I cleared the grove, it was like those films set in Antarctica, the ones where the wind howls across the white expanse and carries snow like thick fog as far as the eye can see.
In case you’re wondering, the wind chill will be somewhere around 40 degrees below zero (Fahrenheit), with an air temp in the single digits below zero. So, I see hot cocoa in my future. I should be able to finish up my WIP draft tomorrow. Then on to tweaking another manuscript, a break from my WIP before digging into the first revision.
Stay warm and keep writing!