<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d10224091\x26blogName\x3dMel\x27s+Procrastination+Palace\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://melaniblazer.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://melaniblazer.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d9183622196452718263', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>
Mel's Procrastination Palace
Sunday, December 11, 2005 Move over Martha

Here I sit.

Last night and earlier today, I final did what I do only once per year--I ventured into the kitchen, pulled out all the baking equipment and transformed into Suzy Homemaker--okay, Martha Stewart? Na, decorating is NOT my thing. Betty Crocker, yeah, that's it.

It's been a tradition for my mother-in-law and I to bake far more cookies than normal families would ever consume (we're talking dozens of dozens and at least five different varieties, often more).... The last few years have been very hectic for both of us, and I've taken to doing this tedious job myself. However, I've also taken to investing in a little pretty Saran Wrap and turning these delicacies into gifts. :)

So anyway, I do think the arrival of such movitation has finally allowed me to acknowledge that yes, indeed, Christmas is upon us. I might... might have a chance of surviving this year.

Or so I thought. Feeling rather sure of myself (bad, bad start), I sat down at my keyboard, opened my word processor and...

There...

Perched on the edge of my monitor, sat my muse.

Now, I have a flat screen, so at first I found this rather humorous, you see, because my muse has the same grace and non existant sense of balance as yours truly. However, today, she seemed quite comfortable up there, staring haughtily at me.

"What in heaven's name do you think you're doing?"

"Um, me?" I tapped myself on the chest, always awed at seeing the muse. Elusive thing. Bet she'd bring quite the reward if I could capture her. But before I could think about where I last saw that butterfly net, she hopped off and walked the edge of my scanner.

"No, dumbass, I was talking to the spider behind you."

Yeah, I looked. No one said I wasn't a gullible sap. "Bitch," I said, turning back around and leveling what I hoped was a killer gaze at her.

She didn't seem fazed. "You're bored with that story. It's dull. Empty. The motivation and "ooomph" of that plot left you 10K ago. Why don't you play with that new plot line I so nicely gifted you with. I mean, gee, it's not even Christmas yet."

"Yeah, great story line. Did you steal that from Mandy's files?"

"No." She sighed and rolled her eyes, then buffed her nails on her chest. I'm thinking she appeared looking like some iridescent pixie fairy thing to make it hard for me to wrap my hands around her neck and choke her. She knows my conscience would see that faux innocence and allow me to spare her life. This time. "It's a bona fida original idea."

"Whatever. I've made notes. But I have to finish this story first."

"Says who?"

Grrrrrrrr. "Says me." I said it, though it's the last thing I should have done. Without a real deadline or requirement, ye olde muse would know I could be swayed, bought, bribed or otherwise distracted, and would start badgering me with ideas, or reminders of all the unfinished manuscripts in my idea files.

"What are you going to do when it's done?"

"Run naked through the snow professing my love to chocolate kisses. What the heck do you THINK I'm gonna do with it? Er, duh, give it to my editor."

"She didn't give you a deadline. Just think, dark motivation. Death. Magic. You know you want to. It'll be a peach of an idea. A real challenge to write. You love challenges."

"No. No. No. No."

With a leap that would have resulted in a catastrophic fall any other day, the muse made it back on my monitor and crossed her legs. She reached down and tapped the screen. "Right there. C'mon, you know you want to."

"Nope. Besides. I already IM'd Jaci to BS it. She's not at her desk." And with that, I stuck my tongue out and blew raspberries at the muse, then grabbed a penny and hit her square in the forehead, nearly causing my monitor to fall.

I can still hear her cursing at me from behind my desk. I'll let her out when this story is done. :P

Posted by Melani Blazer :: 7:09 PM :: 2 comments

Post / Read Comments

---------------oOo---------------