My Muse is Fat and Lazy

You’ve heard of that illusive muse, right? The thing or person that inspires us to create fabulous stories? She’s usually depicted as a Greek goddess with long flowing robes and one of those round cherubic faces. That’s the kind of muse I’d like to have. Unfortunately, my muse is an overweight, sloppy broad who smokes too much and drinks like an alcoholic and thinks flatulence is funny.

Seriously, I had to kick her out the other day. She’s been bugging me awhile—she’s hasn’t been inspiring me to anything other than eating, and really, once I thought about it, I realized she hadn’t contributed to much of anything but the grocery bill. So the other day when she started in on me with those subliminal reminders that there was a pan of brownies in the kitchen, and maybe if I had one…just one…I could finish the chapter, I said, “That’s it. You’re so out of here, Fat ass!”