Conjuring my Muse

   Conjuring my Muse

Suzanne Marsh

My novel was simply not working up how I wanted it to; was it time to seek my muse again? I walked into my office, closed the door, then turned on the music to Disney’s Fantasia. This was my first attempt to conjure my muse. My muse was the little voice that told me what to write with variations. My little voice had been silent for some time now, I wanted it back. I have never believed in muses or any other “thing” that had to be conjured. I sat down at my desk and let Fantasia take over my senses. That wasn’t easy with four little dogs that wanted in and out all day every few hours. I had to find a happy medium for my muse and the dogs, this was not an easy thing to do. I began to listen to the music, I pictured myself with this magic wand conjuring up all sorts of wonderful stories. This idea seemed to be working well, at least for a moment. I began to feel an inspirational flow of words accumulating in my mind. My little voice was returning, perhaps there was something to this conjuring up a muse bit.

The more I listened to Fansatia the more my creative juices began to flow, what was that expression my dad used to say: “Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration” Whoever said that first must have me in mind. My hands flew over the keys as I began to tell the story except my hands were flying quicker than my mind, then I realized all I had was gibberish, my hands had moved and for the first hour I was typing smp3ic dkd, I am sure you get the idea.

I did what any writer would do, I went back and tried to make heads or tails out of gibberish; that is never a good idea but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I had managed to get the title correct; They were the Haganbaughs. I wasn’t exactly sure the Haganbaughs were but I had the idea of using them for an adventure or a family with a hidden secret. Hidden secrets are always better, they pull the reader into the story. First I had to decide who these people were, they were characters forming in my mind. I stared at my muse, a gift from my daughter, it was a Chocolate Labrador Retriever, I had named it “Lucky Lady” after the real Lucky Lady our labrador. I gave some thought to tying in Lucky and the Haganbaughs. Something was formulating in my mind, I just had to put it on the computer screen. Easier said than done, since the words have to come from me, the ideas of creativity for different characters.

Lucky as I thought about it we found at a truck stop in Arkansas, that someone had thrown her out of a moving vehicle. She had been running around the parking lot for several hours. My husband coaxed her over to the truck, she wasn’t even half-grown, we thought she was full-grown. We took her to the vet when we arrived home. The vet told us she was not fully grown, we had planned to give her to my husband’s aunt. Instead, she came to live with us, she was a trucking dog. She had quite a few states under her belt before she passed away. Perhaps that was why she had become my muse, I could still picture “Lucky moments” like when she devoured one of her toys, a long fox that squeaked. She had been playing with it; then there was silence. We wondered where the toy had gone, and we turned the house upside down attempting to find it. Oh, we found it in the backyard several days later. I don’t think I need to say any more on the topic.

I could almost feel her cold nose on my arm, I had a great idea for a story about Lucky and the Haganbaugh adventures on a camping trip. I could draw from my own experiences on the truck and also camping. The Haganbaughs were ordinary people, with a pop-up tent camper, with a top that would not pop up. I had seen quite a few of those over the years. I had had to wiggle into one in my youthful days. I don’t think I would attempt that now, not at my age. Then again if the Haganbaughs’ took Grandma along that idea could work.

I stared more intently at my muse, I thought what I would not give to have Lucky at my elbow nudging me to let her outside. Lucky, was an intelligent dog, who could open the front door with her nose if she was ignored. Yes, that would make an interesting subplot with Lucky the escape artist. As I was beginning the first chapter; four little dogs decided they wanted their treats. I have learned never to ask these four if they want treats; you could get trampled by the relentless four.

Upon returning after giving them their treats, letting them out, and grabbing something for lunch I returned to my office. The four little dogs settled down in various places: under my desk, under my chair, and two in my lap, I was ready to write.

Once again I conjured up my muse, Fantasia worked wonderfully for that. Lucky, the muse her eyes beginning to glow as did my creativity. I thought about a trip I had taken to Nova Scotia years ago and a stop in Brunswick at a campground with the misnomer of “Green Acres”. I have never quite gotten overstepping between leach lines, because the place was under construction, why AAA did not say that in their books is beyond me. That was where my story about the Haganbaugh’s camping trip began. I also thought about a trucking adventure with Lucky.

On our way home, was a roadside stand, selling cookies and other baked goods. We stopped and left the truck running since it was hot and the air conditioner was working, and so was Lucky’s nose, she opened the window her head looking out the window. I poked my husband: “She opened the window, how?” That was Lucky’s secret. Once more I looked at the small stuffed effigy of Lucky, she was and still is my muse. I conjured her up in my mind, I can still see her running free in the backyard, just enjoy the day.