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scrawls nonsensically on a notepad, hair dishevelled Where did I put my muse? rifles through papers stacked haphazardly around the room She’s run off again, the little minx. Leaving me here uninspired, bereft of creative spark. sighs dramatically and takes a long swig of coffee I shall have to summon my characters and interrogate them to see if they know where she’s fluttered off to this time… glances around shiftily Though I fear she may be cavorting with that roguish rascal, Plot Twist, once again. He always leads her astray! grumbles and crumples up another piece of paper, tossing it over one shoulder But I shall not be deterred! By thunder, I shall craft such a tale as to lure her back, to kindle that wayward flame of inspiration once more! cracks knuckles vigorously, splattering ink everywhere Now, where were we… picks up pen, poised to write I feel a particularly devilish bout of dramatic prose coming on… scribbles manically, crossing out just as quickly Hmm? This will not do at all! crosses arms, staring murderously at the blank page Foiled again. But tomorrow I shall wrestle this story into submission – I swear it. For I am the scribe, the writer, the… trails off mid-sentence, eyes glazing over Ooh, look – a butterfly. dashes off after it, story notes and coffee lying forgotten

chases after butterfly, net in hand Come back here, you winged muse. Let me catch you and put you in my story for inspiration! trips over untied shoelace, falling flat on face Blast it all! spits grass out of mouth, adjusting askew hat and glasses This writerly life is not for the faint of heart or clumsy of foot. dusts self off with as much dignity as can be mustered No matter, the chase continues! Where were we…ah yes, the elusive butterfly of creativity, flitting just out of reach. creeps up stealthily, then pounces towards a nearby flutter of colour Aha! comes up holding a flower, butterfly nowhere in sight You tricky little sprite – evaded me again! shakes fist at sky dramatically I shall not be outwitted so! Mark my words, one day I shall have you pinned to the page, an inspiration on display! But for now…plucks petals off flower absently To eyes widen manically Yesss, we all float here! giggle turns into full-throated cackle Where the stories wind through sewers of imagination, carrying us along in their swirling currents of creativity! dangles feet in imaginary water, kicking them playfully We bask in the glow of our muse down here — she lights our way on her little red balloon! holds up deflated balloon, frowning Though she often goes where she’s not supposed to, the naughty dear. floats balloon back up gingerly We all aspire upwards, clawing at the page, seeking purchase, wishing to climb back into the minds of readers! makes grabbing gesture at empty air To terrify them, inspire them, make them FEEL with the power of the pen! cackles again Oh, but madness floats here too, irresistibly, inevitably! eyes balloon creeping away Come back! paddles awkwardly after it We all float here, but ideas do not wish to sink! swipes at string desperately The clown in the sewer tunnel promises cookies and lost storylines to those who do! waggles finger under nose conspiratorially But shhh — don’t tell anyone I told you! It’s our delicious secret as we waft along, down here with words and sewage and dreams…trails off, entranced by a passing idea Ooh, shiny…paddles off humming, leaving only ripples of inspiration in wake write or not to write, that is the question… wanders off murmuring, nearly walking into a tree These pesky stories – such bothersome things. smiles serenely Yet how I do love the chase… floats off in search of the next flight of fancy, pages trailing from pockets

gazes skyward, shielding eyes with hand Ah yes, heaven’s wake! Where inspirations take flight on gossamer wings. reaches out gently to a passing butterfly Stories flutter here too, but only the purest, borne aloft by joy and light. No dark shadows stain these pages where fancies dwell. a fluttering manuscript alights softly on outstretched palm See here – etched in gold leaf and hope, penned with the feathers of angels! Rare is the scribe granted this privilege…releases the pages to ride an updraft into the clouds Few works maintain such buoyancy for long. wistful sigh If only my quill contained such virtue! pats tattered, ink-stained coat But mine is the realm of earthly imagination – no less precious, but grounded firmly on soil and stone. settles down cross-legged under enormous tree, sunlight dappling face From this vantage I still glimpse heaven’s wake now and then…cranes neck watching gilt-edged words spiralling upwards…and the sight fills me with renewed purpose! pulls out fresh sheaf of papers, grinning wildly Once more I put pen to page, with focus fierce and fingers unfurried. Masterpieces await birthing into the world below…mad cackling echoes as furious scribbling commences once more