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Classifieds   • Sections  Smell the Coffee: Musing on wrangling
your muse  CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- "I should fire my muse," I
grumbled as I stood before the open refrigerator, staring at the
pitiful offerings.  "What's a muse?" my daughter asked.  "It's
sort of a voice in your head," I said. "Like, if you're trying
to come up with a story and something bizarre and intact
suddenly occurs to you, out of nowhere. Or if you're typing and
it feels like you're taking dictation rather than coming up with
words on your own. The muse is who gives that to you."  "So it's
kinda like your imaginary friend," Celeste said.  I shrugged.
"Kinda."  "So are you thinking you're going to find her in
there?" Celeste asked, with a nod toward the fridge. "Cause that
seems like a rude place to store her. Or do muses get stale?"
Truth be told, my muse has gone stale. She's been doing this
excessive absenteeism thing lately. Taken an unauthorized leave.
Is likely off in the tropics