AWOL Muse

Oh the irony.

Though it seems unbelievable, I actually can and do write scripts for plays that often get performed. And sometimes they even get performed by real actors too. This past spring I was involved with a reading series for local writers. One of my plays was performed and I performed in another production on the side. It was fun and I enjoyed being able to throw out some material and get a lot of useful feedback from the audiences who saw my piece.

This fall they are reviving the series and a call has been made for more scripts. The due date is early next month.

I decided to be brave and get a script together that is a little less traditional and a lot less worked on. In fact I have not completely finished the piece. But I've been plugging away at it for the past few weeks and it was taking shape.

Until I had to go stick my nose in elsewhere. A friend recently "whined" at me that he couldn't figure out where to go with a script he was trying to continue. Considering the fact I like this friends (go figure) and I usually can think up little ideas in writing quickly (they may not always work, but I can think them up) I had him send me the piece.

It was good. I mean it was only a few pages long and it needed serious work, but it had that good potential - ya know. It was good. It was "ooooh-I-want-more" good. And that's the sign of a good play. It was also completely open and I couldn't help myself, I threw tons of ideas at him. You could do this, you could do that, you could play with this idea, or that one. He took all those ideas...and then wrote something completely different. And even that is good. But I like to think I at least kicked his butt in gear and reminded him that there is no tragedy greater than an unfinished play.

Unfortunately, I had soooooo many ideas for his play, and I shared most of them, that I think I may have used myself up. I've been fiddling with my reading submission for two weeks now and have barely been able to go anywhere with it. Somewhere, in the exchange of idea between writers, the bastard stole my muse!

This was not the plan...if anything I was supposed to be his muse. This would be acceptable, I would have even offered to wear the short little toga-type dress for him. However, at no point was he supposed to seduce my muse towards his work. It's not like my muse was supposed to be helpful to him anyway, considering the muse has dark, short hair, is very tall...and is MALE.

I'm still banging my head over this dumb play, and the deadline is fast approaching. It is imperative that my tall, dark, handsome male muse be returned to me - post haste. I'm sure he's had lots of fun hanging with the boys...and I'm prepared to offer him a chance to recuperate from the massive hang over he has earned. But he better get his butt back here soon. I mean it...soon.

(One a personal note to the muse-thief. The drop will be arranged for a minute after midnight, I'll leave my wastebasket of thrown out paper on the corner of Mulberry and Whaachachoie and you leave Frank-the-soon-to-be-in-so-much-trouble-muse on the easterside of the Wachovia Bank. The duck sings when the turkey cries.)