Muses Hate Me

This post is a revised version from an introduction I did in one of my books. Because it was an intro from a special edition I did I'm going to start paraphrasing because the beginning is written to state that it was in fact a special edition and that I did some, maybe wonderful and maybe God awful stupid things with said book, I mainly wanted to talk about one thing, as I am going to do here; my muses. But to be more basic, the fact my muses tend, in the end, to hate me as I fall for them. I put poetry in the book, which usually is a bad idea, each piece inspired by a muse. My books as well has had some influence by some woman in my life, normally a woman who probably did not part from me on good terms.

Now it doesn't take a brain surgeon many people of the craft of writing or painting or sculpting or related art forms tend to have their muse for the piece they are working on and lots of times it is more than just a friend interest. That's how a lot of my poetry and song lyrics manifested and even some characters in my stories, they were heavily influenced by real life people, especially muses. I have a huge exception as the title suggests, my muses hate me.

Well, not just hate me, they have come to loathe me and avoid me like the plague. but guys, don't feel bad at all for me, after a decade of this crap you come to expect it from the female race and kind of get used to it; even get pleasantly surprised when one decides to hang around for a while. Plus, I do have this hang up about writing poetry. Even though it is a vital mechanic throughout literary history and a simple basis to create one's voice into the literary world, a lot of poetry I see and read, including my own, tend to be a lot of words put together in hopes that it might mean something to several readers. Think about it this way, I didn't put song lyrics into that special edition in fear that the pages might ooze with maple syrip from the sappy language that sit on the paper.

LeSigh, I still digress, my muses still hate me and they still haunt me.

H.R. Green, 10th of November, 2009, 8:55 p.m. Burtchville, MI