Has Your Muse Taken a Snooze? (Or Worse, Blown a Fuse??)

photo-362Got writer’s block?  You might want to try what I did….

An Interview with My Muse

Me:  So….what gives?  You’re so quiet in there.  You gotta come up with something new to get me going.  I never have anything nice to post like all the other Bloggers do.

Maisy Musey:  You gotta be kidding me!  You’ve got a closet full of Inspiration.  And…. You just got Freshly Pressed. What more do you want from me?

Me:  That ratty old thing?  That’s been hanging in there since Valentine’s Day.  Besides, it was just a coincidence they picked that one.   You never give me anything new and exciting anymore.

Maisy Musey:  (sighs) Here we go.   And what’s up with my name?  We’ve gotta change it.  I can’t work like this.  It’s depressing.

Me:  Okay, okay – –  I can understand feeling a little out of sorts after WordPress featured us.  The letdown after the spike in stats.  And maybe the intense pressure to come up with something else as a follow-up.  But you can shake these Muse Blues. I know you can!  Here – – Lemme sing you a little song — “a Muse-ical” if you will.  “la-la-la – – The Muse will come out tomorrow….betcha bottom dollar that….”

Minnie Musey:  Shut up.  And stop with all these cutesie names.  I am NOT a-mused.

Me:  Yes, you most certainly ARE a muse.  And you’re my muse.  You’re just a bit mixed-up.  “Musion Confusion” they call it.   Here….try a better, stronger name.

Moses Muse:  Oh, so its Moses now, is it?  What am I- – a Jew’s Muse?   Listen you, I’ve paid my Muse Dues.  You got what you wanted.  I’m on strike now.  That’s right.  You heard me – –   I.  Refuse.  to.  Muse.

Me:  What?!  With my new followers?  What am I supposed to do?

Moses Muse:  Tell them you have some News.  Your Muse took his departure Cues after finally getting some Clues and feeling Used.   He was tired of Cruising for a Musing Bruising.

Me:  I don’t believe this!  All my readers will jump to the wrong Musion Conclusion now. Like I’ve given you a Musion Contusion or something.  Yeah, sure.  Besides,  you just can’t go into Musion Seclusion.  How am I going to keep up with the “I’m really a witty writer” Illusion?  Please!?

Sybil:  Has it ever occurred to you that you don’t even have a Muse? That you just talk to yourself??  You do have a track record you know.photo-363

Me:  You miserable Excuse for a Muse.  You just watch.  I’m gonna Peruse a famous writer’s Muse.  Someone with profound, Profuse Muse Views.   A Muse who won’t Accuse.  Hemingway’s Muse!  Now that’s a great Muse for me to Choose to Reuse!!

Ernie:  (Belches)  Hey man!  I am definitely not the Muse for you.  I’m a Male Muse.  Into minimalism.  Not all that girly chit-chat.  Any of these sound familiar?  1.  Farewell to Arms  2.  The Sun Also Rises   3.  The Old Man and the Sea. (And my strong personal favorite) . . .  4.   For Whom the Bell Tolls?

Me:  Don’t give me that Muse-o,  Macho B.S.  You’re sensitive deep down, I know it.   You could have easily made those titles into 1.  Farewell to Feminine Charms  2.  The Daughter Also Sets (the table)  3.   The Cold Man and His Tea.  (And a terrific wedding planner called…) 4.  “For the Groom Rochelle Controls”

Ernie:  Okay, Miss Smartie Pants Blogger….you don’t need a muse.  Just take all the classics and tweak ’em with your  own little womanly touch.  See how far it gets you.

Me:  You don’t have to ask me twice. Go back to the Booze, Hemingway Muse!

Little Miss Menopause’s Take on Literature Greats

1.  Crime and Punishment – – Grime and Tarnishment  (A Housekeeping Guide)

2.  Sense and Sensibility – – Blintz and Minceability  (A Cookbook)

3,  Wuthering Heights – –  Withering Nights  (A Sex Manual After Age 50)

4.  The Importance of Being Earnest – – The Importance of Being an Internist – –  (How To convince your kids to become a doctor)

5.  The Catcher in the Rye – – Scratch Her in the Eye  (What to do when you find the woman your husband cheated with)

6.  Red Badge of Courage – – Shred Bag to Discourage  (A Shopaholics Recovery Bible)

7.   Great Expectations – –   Weight Fluctuations   (It’s normal to put on a few pounds throughout the monthly cycle)

8.  War and Peace – – Drawer of Fleece  (Sweats ARE okay on weekends)

9.  Scarlett Letter – – Car-Knit Sweater (Driving Hobbies while your hubby takes the wheel)

10.  Call of the Wild – – Bawl of the Child  (Beyond Time-Out Punishments for your Little One)

Okay, alright. Those are awful.   I admit it.  I need my old Muse back.  Nobody should Lose their Muse.  I promise to be kind, grateful and most of all to think of a dignified name.  That’s right  – – I, Little Miss Menopause, do solemnly swear to attend a support group to stop “Muse Abuse.”  The meetings are held in the local Museum, of course.

And how do you treat your writer’s Muse when it goes Mute??


How I Came THIS Close to Getting Freshly Pressed !!

photo-350I’ve been doing a lot of research on how to get it to happen . . . the pinnacle experience here on WordPress – – the honor of having your blog post exposed to millions of new readers.  It’s called “Freshly Pressed.”

I came to the conclusion that there’s nothing a writer can do to make it happen . . . except maybe pray.

With that in mind, Here are the Steps I Took Towards my Goal:


1.  I went to my House of Worship today and when I got there, the clergy put his hands over my head and uttered some holy words about my Blog.  Freshly Blessed!

2.  I then knelt down and admitted I had told a few friends I had 50,000 Followers.   Freshly Confessed!

3.  He then pronounced me a little crazy eyed, kinda guilty – – maybe “the devil made me do it?”  Freshly Possessed!

4.  While I was there he also healed some of my other ailments, including Writer’s Block.  Freshly Convalesced!

5.  I went home to prepare for a date with another writer and put on a clean skirt.  Freshly Dressed!

6.  The writer showed me his new book and I oohed and awed.  Freshly Impressed!

7.  Feeling inferior, I got up to leave – – but he asked me to stay.  I reluctantly sat down.  Freshly Acquiesced!

8.  We ordered roasted chicken and I took my favorite part – – the white meat.  Freshly Breast!

9.  He rapidly took my hands, looked into my eyes briefly, and in a big hurry said he’d call me soon.  Freshly Expressed!

10.  I did my best sexy old movie star impression and drawled, “Why doncha come up and see me sometime?”  Freshly Mae West

11.  That made him embrace me, running his hands slowly down my backside.  Freshly Caressed!

12.  When I drove home, I couldn’t stop thinking about his muscular arms, shoulders and chest. Freshly obsessed!

13. I stepped hard on the gas pedal as I began to feel anxious that he wouldn’t call again.  Freshly Stressed!

14.  The cop asked if I knew how fast I was going?  I was unsure, but tried to estimate. 65 mph?  Freshly Guessed!

15.   When he said he was going to write me up, I began to argue.  Freshly Protest!

16.  Then he handed me the ticket and I made a recommendation of where he could stick it.  Freshly Suggest!

17.  He didn’t like that and took out his handcuffs.  Freshly Arrest!

18.  I asked him to sing to me, reminding him that people get a last wish before they go to jail.  Freshly Request!

19.  He changed into his costume, (white sequined pants, sunglasses) and put on a long, black famous wig.  Freshly Tressed!

This was the moment I had been waiting for!  I knew it would finally happen.  As I watched him gyrate his hips to Jailhouse Rock, he transformed into a brand new, updated version of  “Elvis, The King!”  And that’s when I realized, (I was never getting Freshly Pressed.  Nope!)  I was getting  “Presley Freshed!”

And now I remain Freshly Depressed.


“Thank you.  Thank you very much!”





The (Almost) Arrest of my Freshly Pressed Houseguest (In Jest)

photo-180At first I was highly intrigued and quite honored.  A Freshly Pressed Blogger personally contacting me.  ME ?!  It all started about a week after my blogging here began – – I noticed I had one view every single day coming in from a very faraway, exotic country.  Cool, I thought.  Then the View turned into a Follow.  Cooler! I noticed the award badge on their site (Coolest!) and so I read the piece that was Freshly Pressed and I became Freshly IMpressed!

Her first comment to me was extremely flattering, praising my humor and suggesting that with a little of her advice and a few tips, I too might follow in her footsteps.  “Lead the way,” I thought.

That was the beginning of constant interactive comments on both our blogs and she seemed very amused by my posts.  She loved my parody post about the  Movies  , as well as the one about opening a new kind of restaurant that had an “unusual” Menu.  Then came the message that stepped just a tad outside of the normal “Blogger Zone.”  Had I ever been to her country?  And guess what?  California was someplace she’d always dreamed of visiting some day! Hmmm, I wondered.

Is this blogger just a wee bit mixed-up and is now harboring the notion that WordPress morphed into HomeSwap.dotcom?

Nonetheless, I’d been working on trying to be more affable lately, (plus working on using the word “affable” in my blog) and it was true that I had an extra bedroom since my divorce. And I DID live in a city that boasted such tourist draws as SeaWorld,  Legoland, a world famous Zoo, plus beautiful beaches.  And was just a Mickey Mouse-sized hop, skip and a jump from Disneyland.  What the heck.

When I met her at the airport, she couldn’t wait to show me all the delicious apricots from her homeland. How did she get past security with all that fruit, I wondered?  The drive home witnessed her hanging her head out the passenger’s side like my Labradoodle , oohing and ahhing at every street corner.

And then abruptly she rolled the window up, her hair still lacquered into place, and turned to me in an expectant manner.

Houseguest:  So. . . Say something funny.

Me:  What do you mean?

Houseguest:  Make me laugh.

Me: (Laughing)

Houseguest:  No, you’re doing it wrong. You are not the audience. You’re supposed to be the comic.

Me:  Seriously?

Houseguest:  You’re not funny at all.   Can you even tell a joke?

Me:  I don’t think you are allowed to heckle a writer.  Are you?

Houseguest:  See?  Once again, not funny.

Me:  (Swallowing hard)

Houseguest:  You’re just a One Hit Blogger, aren’t you?

Me:  (Shoulder shrug)

Houseguest:  That’s right.  You wrote one crummy piece on how to not blog like an old Fogie and suddenly the world’s your stage.

Me:   Not an Old Fogie.  It was an Old Codger.

Houseguest:   Whatever.  Just drive.

The week was starting off splendidly.  Yep, you heard me. But how could I have made her stay here any shorter than that?  When you come from that far away, two whole days are basically devoted to travel.

Once settled into my home, she immediately made a break for my bedroom and logged onto my own computer!  I could hear the typing from my kitchen.  Hard, definitive, angry strokes.

I distracted myself with calling a friend….

Friend:  That’s unbelievable.  Tell me more.

Me:  When we got here, the first thing she did was roll around on my sofa, sniffing it intently.  Read the Red Text  on my About Page  if you are wondering why she did that.

What does this have to do with anything?  Click the

What does this perfume have to do with anything? Click the “About Page” link above.

Friend:  Oh I know why.  I remember you writing about that. Wow, what a piece of work.

Me:  Her or my About Page??

Friend:  LOL.  You’re sooooo funny!  What a hoot!

Me:  That’s another thing.  She says I’m unfunny.  She was expecting a cross between Tina Fey, Erma Bombeck and Lucille Ball.

Friend:  Nah, you’re more Carol Brady.

Me:  Thanks a lot. And she doesn’t even speak with an accent.  I am wondering if she really is from that country. Or was ever really Freshly Pressed?

Friend:  Freshly Pressed?  What’s that?

Me:  When your writing gets read by millions.  It’s something I’ve always….

Friend:  Gotta go!   The  kids are running stark naked down the street, handing out cookies to advertise our next garage sale.  We’re expecting a big crowd.

After our bath, we're gonna run down the street naked.

After our bath, we’re gonna run down the street naked.

When my houseguest from another country (?)  finally emerged from my bedroom, she wore my good black dress and casually sat down at the table, announcing she was starving.

Houseguest:  I checked on your computer.  You were never hacked like your blog  about hackers   claimed you were.

Me:  And your point is ?

Houseguest:  You’re a fraud.  Did you ever really have that incident happen in the dressing room when you went jean shopping??  Are you even the one writing all those blogs?

Me:  Of course I am.  Haven’t you ever seen a movie that’s based on true events?  They bend the truth a little  for drama.  I do it for humor.

Houseguest:  So what IS  true about you?

Me:  (blushing)  That’s kinda personal.

Houseguest:  You’re not even quite as old, fat, ugly, stupid or as disorganized as your blog makes you out to be.

Me:  Thanks??

Houseguest:  And are you even having an affair with your mailman??  Like it said in Paying It Forward Backfires?

Me:  Well  I  do know my mailman.  And I sometimes put on a clean shirt to fetch the mail.

Houseguest:  Haven’t you ever heard of Truth in Advertising?

Me:  But I’m not selling anything!

Houseguest: (looking me up and down, noticing empty ring finger)  Oh no?

Me:  Listen you, whoever you really are.  There’s not like a “Blogger’s Code of Ethics,” you know.  I can write whatever I want.  True or not.  I love blending fact into fiction to give my followers a laugh.

Houseguest:   You’re just scared your life is too boring to tell the truth.  You can’t handle the truth!

Me:  (looking around for Jack Nicholson)  So, what are you going to do?

Houseguest:  I’m going to blow the blog whistle on you.  Publish a long post announcing just how misleading you are.  You won’t have a follower left in hell by the time I’m done.

With that, she flounced off toward my bedroom and I heard the door slam and lock.  The ferocious typing resumed!  I’d seen the movie Pacific Heights.  How was I ever going to get this woman out of my bedroom, let alone my house?

Wow, I thought. “The truth IS stranger than fiction.”

Me: (thru the door)  Yoo Hoo.  What are you doing in there, Strange lady?

Houseguest:  Blowing your cover.  How’s this for a title?   “San Diego writer is  NOTHING  like her blog!”

Me:  Oh Please.  Please??   (the word sounds similar to….)  Police!  I’m calling the police.

Houseguest barricade?  Sounds high priority.

Houseguest barricade? Sounds high priority.

Houseguest:  Dream on.  Nothing you ever say or write is true.  What an imagination.  No cop is ever gonna come out here over this.

I watched as the officer’s brows raised incredulously when I gave my account of what happened. He made no move toward my bedroom to arrest her.  His partner simply said, “She sounds like a real character.”

“But…but…you have to handcuff her!  I can’t have her ruining my blogging career before it even starts.  And she eats more than all three of my teenage sons put together.

“Ah hah.  Maybe you don’t really have any teenage sons??”

“Never mind that,” I said, flushing (I swear it wasn’t a hot flash!)  “She can’t stay!!”

Both men tipped their hats and said in unison, “Sorry Ma’am.  But you’re the only one who is capable of getting rid of her.  You’ve always had the power all along.”

I looked down at my feet.  No glittering ruby shoes.  There was only one way to guarantee that everything turned out okay in the end.  To make this “houseguest” disappear and ensure that I wouldn’t come off as a liar in my own blog.  That’s it!  Certainly everyone has heard of this . . .

“Life Imitates Art!”

It just had to work!  I sat down at the kitchen table and without hesitation, logged into WordPress.  With the same amount of determination, exactness, and aplomb as my houseguest, I typed the ideal title:

         “The Quest For the Perfect, Freshly Pressed Houseguest!”

“Dear Readers:  Would anyone like to visit San Diego?  I have a spare bedroom in a really fun city.  Please come with a carefree attitude and know that not everything you read is true ….. blah, blah, blah.”

When I put the finishing touches on my post and added a few images, I walked to the back of the house and opened the bedroom door . . .

My houseguest had completely vanished.  All that remained were a few fresh apricots on the desk – –  definitely from the tree in my very own backyard.