Mine is a perfidious muse, with a twisted sense of humor and a downright pitiful sense of timing. As a minor deity (she would argue the “minor” part), Calliope is accustomed to abrupt comings and goings, as suit her imperious whims, and she cares little whether it’s 3 p.m. or 3 a.m. when she chooses to share an inspiration with me. But she is brilliant and holds my highest esteem. Unfortunately, I think I really pissed her off when I named my teddy bear after her. See, a friend of mine knows all about subtle energies and how to infuse items with specific frequencies. She has the best ever “energy” teddy bears. Anyone who picks one up can’t seem to put it down. Even men. In fact, my hubby got one for himself. So, I got a teddy bear too, and asked that “inspiration” be added to her energy. Then I named her Calliope, and my muse has been miffed ever since. 
It’s not that she’s really off somewhere napping. No, she’s exacting revenge with more devious tricks. She whispers snippets of totally unrelated intrigues, or dictates partial new scenes for books already published. Worst of all, she lurks ~ silent, except for spectral snickers and that sinking-stomach sensation that I’m on the verge of a massive creative binge . . . that has yet to materialize. 
Lest you surmise that I am wordless without my muse ~ I , thankfully, am not. My stories still stir and gestate until compelled into book. And I have enough discipline, normally, to write what’s next. But Calliope makes it ever so much more fun. She wakes me with whole scenes ready to unfold at my first stroke of the keyboard. She teases me with snatches of upcoming chapters. She keeps my characters present and evolving. She keeps me excited. 
So, Calliope. Dear. I can do no better than a public mea culpa. I in no way meant to diminish your Importance when I bestowed your vaunted name upon a rather tatty stuffed likeness of a pretend bear. If anything, it was my clumsily mortal attempt to portray my fondness for your presence in my life. Psst . . . Calliope . . . I’ll put out milk and honey . . . burn pink candles until the moon is full . . . I’ll . . . I’ll credit you in my next book . . .
Kitty R. Connell
My Blog I
My Blog II
My Website
| 
