This was a room where writers become writers!
The room is big, but not overwhelmingly so,
soft lighting shines from heavy brass lamps and in the center of the room
a beautiful desk stocked with pens and paper.
I walk to the desk, sit down and take up a pen.
” What are you doing?” Milo hisses in my ear.
” I am having a flight of imagination. I flew in on a winged horse and I came upon this beautiful room in this beautiful room lit by moonlight and starlight too.”
Milo spins the chair I’m sitting in around, leans over and pushes his nose into my face.
” Have you been drinking?”
I jab my finger into his chest and push him back.
” I have not.”
” Really? Because you sound like it. And where are we? Jesus, have you broken into somebody’s house? Is that what you’ve done? Get up. My God. You’ve gone over the edge this time.”
” I am seeking inspiration.”
” That’s my job.”
” You are not inspiring. You are …high maintenance.”
” And you could be arrested. You could go to jail. Now will you get up?”
” I heard the Marquis De Sade wrote his best work in prison.”
” The..who you say? Will you get out of the chair before…”
Something is outside the closed door. We could feel it listening to us.
” Oh no. You silly woman. Where are we?”
” Don’t know. I was supposed to close my eyes and fly and here I am.”
” You can’t do that. You know what happens to it when you lose focus. Your imagination acts like it should be in a mental ward somewhere.
” Everybody does this.” I inform him.
” Oh. Sure. Everybody like the …” Milo slams his hand over his mouth. He takes it away and hisses
” What have you done?”
The door knob starts to turn.
” Get us out of here. And by the way. If you ask that- whatever is on the other side of the door where your charm bracelet is, I’m going to rip your lungs out. And then we’ll see how much writing you get in IF YOU CAN’T BREATHE!”
I watch the door swing open and I look at Milo.
” I don’t know what to do.”
Milo spins me around and I’m facing the desk.
“Shut up and start writing.”
:::Milo The Muse:::