By Marilyn Trent

(From the June 2006 issue of the Update.)

A few years ago, Susan Donovan told us about her wonderful muse, a little old lady not unlike Dr. Ruth, who jumped on her back brandishing a whip and made her write hot, sexy romantic books.  I had muse-envy.  I had no muse. I wanted to lure her muse away in a clandestine takeover, cajole her muse into my life, whip and all.

I wrote, mind you.  I wrote bad time travels, bad historicals, bad historical time travels—you get the picture.  I really needed that muse! I needed someone to wake me up, slap me silly and tell me what to write.

In my muse-less state, I continued to wander blindly around blank pages, filling them with words, ideas, tales.  I wrote about Travis Summerton who left Montana to find his own way in life, only to lose his way until his heroine brought him home.  I found Brad D’Angelo, the injured undercover cop who takes a hostage to save himself—and ends up saving her.  There was Sam Donegan, retired CIA operative, who is forced to save a King and his true love in a very tongue-in-cheek comedy of errors.

Brian Lane was a firefighter who rescued a woman and her baby only to be rescued himself by her love.  And Elisha McCoy was the cynical Catamawchi Island cop who is led to happiness and true love by an Angel.  I can’t forget Buddy, the West Virginia cattleman, who wrote love poems to his secret high school sweetheart.  Or the Witch, Thomas Harwick, who bewitched not only me, but my entire critique group.  Billy Coulter, U.S. Marshall, an old-west hero at odds with his past, saved by the love from his past.  And my latest—Oh! My! God! —MUSE.

I HAVE A MUSE!

My heroes are my muses or MY MUSE in different guises.  He—yes, my muse is a HE—teases me in the wee hours of the night with quirky, seductive grins, twinkling blue eyes and suggestions for hot sex.  He appears in doorways awash with late afternoon sunshine, silhouetted in dusty haze.  He rides by on tractors and Harleys, in pickup trucks, sports cars and on fiery stallions.  He calls to me from far away places and just across the road.

He is always with me, in one form or another.  A Cowboy, a Cop, a Witch, a Spy.  Who knows who he will be the next time?  One thing I am sure of—he will always be a hero with a big heart and a big grin, just waiting for me to bring him to life, to tell his story, to give him a happy ending that will produce a sigh in a contented reader.

If I don’t do right by him, he’s liable to leap on my back and knock me silly.  Or maybe he’ll have his own whip.... hmmmm....how interesting. Pardon me.  I need to see to my Muse.

~~~~~
Marilyn Trent is a member of WRW, writing contemporary romantic comedy with the help of her current MUSE, Harley-riding Trailer-ite, Joe Castaldi.