This blog is one I originally wrote for the MurderSheWrites blog back in 2008. I’m posting it again just for fun
Missing Muse Report
Do you guys ever have one of those days where your muse isn’t cooperating? This blog is a parody I wrote about that frustrating feeling a while back for another blog. It’s from a police detective’s POV.
MISSING MUSE REPORT
12, MAY 2008
DESCRIPTION: SLIPPERY AND SNEAKY
STATUS: NO FREAKING IDEA
Monday morning, at eight oh four a.m., a woman came into the precinct. She wore jeans and a t-shirt with the words, I Kill for Chocolate, written across her chest. In a clearly agitated state, she reported that her Muse is missing.
“When was the last time you saw her?” I inquired.
“Never. I’ve never seen that hussy. She’s like smoke. Well not smoke because that would suggest fire. And trust me, I have not been on fire. So she’s like fog, except not fog. Fog is not the right word to describe her. Dry ice? Still not the right word to describe her. Okay, uh, let me think. Do you have a thesaurus?”
Feeling a headache coming on, I said, “Let’s skip the description. What is your relationship to Muse?”
“Hot and cold. No, too bland. Fire and ice? Friend and foe? No! No more clichés! My relationship to Muse is complicated. Like a cat! Yes, she’s sort of like a cat, friendly and sweet sometimes, then aloof and bitchy other times. Like a cat.
I realized I was bobbing my head back and forth like I was watching a tennis match. I tried to recap what the woman had said, “Muse is a cat? Ma’am, this is a police station. We don’t look for missing cats.”
“My Muse is not a cat! Where would you get such an idea? I said she’s like a cat. That’s a metaphor. Well I said like, so it’s actually a simile. But not a cat.”
I turned to look at the woman fidgeting on the chair facing my desk. “Have you been drinking?”
“Sure. Absolutely. I’ve tried it all. Wine, gin tonics, coffee and Kahlua, I still can’t find Muse! This morning, I woke up at 3 A.M. I meditated. I did Yoga. I lit candles. I asked my Higher Self for guidance. I downed two pots of coffee! And I still can’t find that sneaky, double-crossing, word-tease, idea-slut, anywhere!”
I had enough. “Let me get this straight. You are reporting Muse missing, but you can’t describe her, have never seen her and you look for her by doing Yoga, lighting candles and drinking coffee?”
“Ma’am you do realize this is a police station? That it’s a crime to make a false report?”
Her blue eyes lit up, she sat forward and put her arm on my desk. “Do you get a lot of false reports? I mean what kind of person makes a false report?”
He opened his mouth, “Well…”
“A desperate person, maybe a woman who can’t tell the truth, but—”
She stood up. “Thank you!”
“Uh, for what?”
She frowned, her blue eyes studying him as if he were a little dim. “Haven’t you been listening? I lost my Muse. Now I found her. You people do good work. Later.”
I watched her bounce out as if she were twenty pounds lighter. “What just happened?”