I stare at the screen. Not a blank screen, but a white one with all kinds of black squiggles on it usually interpreted as letters. My head aches, and I wonder for the umpteenth time why I bothered with the stupid surgery that’s made me miserable and unproductive for the past week and a half.
If I get any more sinus headaches after all this, I’m not going to be happy.
The door to my writing office swings open, sucking a draft through the space. My Muse enters, clad in worn jeans and the burgundy thermal shirt I love. He shoves his sleeves to his elbows and closes the door. The view from the windows changes from a tropical vista to a thick forest. I hear a stream rippling through its course from somewhere out there.
“What are you doing, love?” he asks, hands on hips. “Where’s your WIP?”
“I missed my blog post this week. I’m writing it now.”
He frowns. “Blog post? You wrote about your garden and the orphans already this week. You need to dig into your WIP.”
“I will. Just let me finish this.”
“Uh huh.” He looms over my shoulder. “And you’re procrastinating on your WIP why, exactly?” He points to the screen. “Missed a comma here.”
I shove his arm aside and add the mark. “My head hurts, otherwise I would’ve worked on it last night.”
“That’s what pain-killers are for. Finish up.” He pulls a fold-up chair from a corner and plops it down beside me. “Come on, love. The kids are gone to your sister-in-law’s, you have a legitimate reason not to weed or do any other activity, and it’s quiet. You have got to get your ass moving.”
He smells like the woods after a spring rain, that fresh scent of nature. I plant my elbows on my desk and rub my forehead. “My head hurts.”
“My ass hurts because you’re the pain in it. You know damn well if you don’t get this revision done this week, you’re losing your opportunity.”
I know. “Where are the kittens?”
He turns me to face him with a finger under my chin. Those blue eyes of his trap me. “It. Doesn’t. Matter. Finish your post, then open your WIP. You read through the draft yesterday.” The scent of burning leaves surrounds him. “Don’t make me pull out the big guns.”
I pull away. “Fine. You sure have been nice lately. What happened?”
“I see my writer losing momentum, that’s what. You’ve got a fecking month before the reunion, and you still haven’t gotten your WIP revised.”
“I just had surgery.”
“And you have time and opportunity now to write. No excuses.” He waves his hand in a circle. “C’mon, love, wrap it up.”
Sigh. He’s right, I know.
“Of course, I’m right.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It’s not my job to be humble, love. It’s my job to inspire you and kick you in the ass when you need it.”
So true. I’ll leave you all with a dose of cuteness. (BTW, haven’t found a new home for the orphans yet.)