I'm the new black, but in color and that color is all the words that come up from inside my head. Fact: This Blog is for me to feel like a real writer. It's just like the feeling that the characters from the movie "you got mail" felt when those words appeared on the screen, that's how I feel when I clicked on P.U.B.L.I.S.H.E.D. That's just a great feeling. I can't see myself no writing in the sense of forever. Writing is magic and when you read me becomes true and when you comment starts to scream. I just love it. A place to be, to let myself go.
Sometimes a theme appears again. Sometimes words sound familiar.
Inside this place a Story Teller found the Following Story:
The story of a muse
Once upon a time muses were only a myth of inspiration, but today muses can be any ordinary people. So a new ad was posted today in the newspaper, it says: “I need a muse right away, you don’t need experience, just the right attitude for it.” Whatever that means. Do you know who wrote this? Well our writer’s name is Greg. This particular writer is less than nothing without a muse. He really needs inspiration to write a story for his new book that has to be printed in the next three months. He is in front of this white page and nothing comes out. Music doesn’t work, drinking alcohol is a waste of time and his study is a complete mess at this point. To get an idea of all this mess I will tell you that a mouse could freely live there and you would never known about it unless you started to clean it. So he really needs help right way. SOS; that’s right.
So when this desperate young lady name Grace went to see what was needed to get the job, she got it immediately, just like that she got it. The work was simple, he needs to have everything in order, everything clean, he needs for Grace to set up the space for him to work and best of all he needs coffee. That’s not all; if he asks for her opinion; she needs to say something, but it needs to be coherent and if he doesn’t agree; she needs to be prepare to give him a good fight and defend it to the grown what she is saying because the point of the discussion is to blow some steam.
The first month it felt like hard work to do, but she got use to it, even though after leaving work every night and driving her car home, she thought that he was stubborn as a mule and she said it to herself all the way home; “why does he need to be right all the time, why does he always need to have 500 white pages next to his computer and please lets not forget about the 100 pages in the printer and best of all why do I have to give him everyday a page with ten ideas for a new story when he never picks anyone of them?, stupid guy. If it wasn’t for the money, if it wasn’t for the money. My God! I forgot to see if we had enough paper for tomorrow. Yes we have, no we may not have. I don’t need this right now. Let’s forget it Grace, concentrate in the driving, you need to get home and get ready for your first date with this guy, yeah! Everything is going to be all right.”
Every day on her way home she curses her day at work, but on April the 12th. was different as you can see. The next day was not any better. She was upset because her date went wrong, all the time she thought about the not enough paper and guess what. He started to work really early this 13th. He was on fire when she arrived to the work, he was cursing the world when she arrived. She found out that the problem was the paper, he didn’t have any. He had a problem with the computer and the printer; so all of the pages left went to the garbage, he was really mad. She tried to calm him down by giving him ideas how to start again to write on the computer and later on she would get the paper, but he didn’t want that, he wanted to write on paper and he wanted that now.
She started over by giving him ideas on how to continue with his work by saying “Why don’t you let me type for you, you see we can work together, after all that’s what a muse does, doesn’t she?” But he didn’t want that. It didn’t work for him to tell her the story and for her to type. He needed to feel the pages, his writing. She tried to explain to him that the store wasn’t open at this time; so she thought it was a good idea to do something about his writing before he forgot all about it. He was acting again like a mule, like a kid that doesn’t get what he wants, that was so annoying to her ears. She couldn’t handle more of that, more of his cursing so she gave him her T-shirt that she was wearing that day for him to write on it. He said after words “thank you”, she thought this will give her enough time for her to wait for the store to be open and buy the paper, but she was wrong; immediately after giving him that; he needed something else to write on. So because she didn’t want him to start cursing again she gave him the first thing that she thought at the moment, she gave him her jeans. Now she was stuck with him. Start thinking, she said to herself.
How desperate was she? That she gave him all of her clothes; leaving her just with her underwear on. From the moment she gave away her socks; she starting walking around the house, wondering why did she do that for. “How desperate was I” she asked herself over and over again. Then she saw what she could have given him instead of her clothes. “Those curtains seem nice, that thing on the table seems nice also, these sheets, his clothes.” Now she was the one cursing out loud and in a really mad mood, she was destroying everything on her way to his closet, all the things I just mentioned. After all of this and taking a breath; exhale-inhale; then she decided to wear a shirt of his and to start cleaning all of the mess she left behind while he was still working in his study. At that point it seemed that he wasn’t mad at the computer any more because you could hear him typing so she exhales and inhales one more time again.
After taking that breath and cleaning all the mess downstairs, she walked towards the bedroom, she made the bed. She went to the bathroom and when she saw her reflection in the mirror, she saw that she was wearing one clothing of his, she started then to smell it, to feel him, she saw herself reflected in the mirror next to him kissing, but it was just a dream; wasn’t it? The next morning proved her wrong, she woke up next to him in his bed all naked, she couldn’t remember at all what happened that night. The nakedness didn’t scare her; what scare her the most was not remembering and all the words painted all over her body. What happened? She asked herself that question over and over again. Suddenly he woke up and saw her there standing by the window with a sheet covering all of her body. He saw her but then he turned away far away from her and told her to take a shower and that he would leave her clothes to change over the bed. Not knowing why; she asked him about the writing that was written on her body, she said: “Don’t you want it?” and his answer was no and then he left the room.
After that she took his advice and took a shower, saw all the words were washed away, down the drain and for some reason she started to cry. She finished taking a shower and as he said; there were the clothes over the bed. But those clothes weren’t his or hers. “Who do they belong to?” She asked herself at loud and suddenly after dressing up she started to look for clues, for answers, this was very mysterious to her; then she discovered a box full of women clothes and in between them, there it was a photo, behind the photo it was written: “To Greg with love; from his favorite muse: Georgia.” “Who was she?, was she; his first muse?” She asked herself all of this questions, then she heard a noise downstairs. So she went to his study and saw him there sleeping on the sofa, he looked so peaceful. Close to him was the table with all her clothes and she took them and change into them. If he didn’t care about the writing over my body; he won’t care about my clothes either, she thought. After words she decided to look for a paper to write him a note where she wrote: “I’m leaving and taking my own clothes with me, I will take care of your writing, but I need to wear my clothes and nobody else’s, thanks: Grace.” She went and close the door behind her.
When she closed the door behind and went to her car, she realized something was wrong and she had a flash back at that precise moment. She saw herself in the bedroom smelling his shirt, feeling him close, all of the sudden he was there behind her, out of the blue he pulled her out of the bathroom and set her in the middle of the room, it was like he wanted to see her under the light of his bedroom. She tried to speak but she couldn’t, she wanted to say: What was the problem? But nothing came out of her mouth. She was completely speechless.
He saw her from head to toe, like he was taking a picture of her, in that precise way he looked at her, then just like that he started to unbutton her shirt and again she was just wearing her underwear. He started to give her a strange look, he was kind of out. He started to look at her as I said and to look at that small table in the corner of the room. On that table you could see the material of *a writer from the old age, a feather and ink were the tools for a writer in those days and he took them and went back to her and he started to create a work of art over her back; down her neck. You could see in her eyes that she wanted to move but she couldn’t, she couldn’t do it at all, she kept still, after a few minutes she felt him writing near her feet, by then she was in the nude. She went ahead and thought that in a few seconds he would be in front of her and she didn’t want to face that. Suddenly the flash back was over. She knew part of the story but not all of it and that was really scary. She decided not to think about it and move on. She still needed the job and the money; besides that she already care about him; so she went to buy the paper and some ink too for tomorrow.
The next morning and the next week after that day; it was like nothing happened. They continue with the same old routine until that Friday the 13th. They say it’s an unlucky number, unlucky day, but it wasn’t, was it? That morning she was making the coffee, but for some reason she was being clumsy that day. All of this happened when he enter into the room. She threw the coffee pot down to the floor and she cut herself. He went to see how bad was it and there was blood. He took her hand, well her finger; where it was the cut and put it into his mouth and the bleeding stopped. After words she said: “I can take it from here.” When he did that; something strange inside her heart happened to her, he left the kitchen and when he got into his study he felt something too. He started to remember that day when he saw her there in the nude, in bed, when she woke up after she fainted. Yes he returned to that time in one flash back.
He was finished writing in her feet with that feather of his. He stood up and kept still; looking at his work that he just wrote. He became amaze at first with his writing, but seconds later he became more amaze with her. He wonder why she let him did that to her; in a matter of seconds he felt something call love. He went to see her face to face, he touched her shoulders and admired the look that she gave him, he looked at those eyes of her like he never looked at them before, then he felt her trembling and in a matter of a second saw her faint into his arms. He took her to his bed and sat her there, he covered her right away. At that moment he didn’t care about his writing; he cared about her. Those moments were the only ones that he saw in that precise flash back and because of that he returned to where she was and started to kiss her. She gave up under this spell.
Now what? Why enter into details, you only need to know that they stayed together that day, that afternoon, the night and the morning after. That next day, she woke up next to him and she was amazed to see him there. Then he woke up, he smiled at her and said: “Is this too soon to say I love you?; because that’s what I feel.” In response she gave him a kiss and said: “No.”
What happen then with the muse job; well it got more complicated now and at the same time so much fun because of all the making out. He still acted like a mule most of the time; but later on she found a way to stop that. In order for him to see her completely naked; he needed to write a whole page for one piece of clothing of hers. He needed to start working and stop being such a mule for one piece of clothing. This became useful at first, but later on it seemed like he did that just for the sex and the writing was terrible. So her work as a muse was failing. When she realised that she punished him with no love, no kisses and no sex until he finish writing that book of his and it got to be good as well. Sometimes she felt bad so she stood behind him and whisper softly commands into his ear and this kept him going faster; so after three months, two weeks and three days, I mean two weeks and three days not too late he was finished with his book and soon after that it was on its way to the stores to be sold.
Then the story of an ordinary muse became the story of not such regular wife. She kept inspire him, she kept the fire going on through the years to come. The work a muse never ends and never dies.