POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

The Dream

By Nandy Ekle

I roll out of bed and see the new born sunlight peek through my bedroom window. I stretch luxuriously. No reason to be in a hurry, I work from my kitchen table. I go to work when I want to, work as long as I feel like it, and clock out when I’m ready.

I play my computer games or read my books as I soak my achy joints in a scalding hot bath. This is an important part of every day for me because that’s where I find the energy to move. Also, I must start each day by washing and styling my hair. This is mainly out of consideration for the rest of the world. If I don’t do that, people tend to be afraid of me because my hair looks like a monster.

Now that I’m out of the bath, all soaked and moveable, I sit at the kitchen table and travel to faraway lands. I meet all the people of that land and they tell me all about themselves. Sometimes these people cry and complain about their lives. Sometimes they fight with each other. Sometimes they want to control their world and make all the others do what they want. Some of these people don’t want any attention because they want to do things no one else can see.

I will sit at my table and play with these people all day long until I get tired of them. Then I can simply tell them goodnight and shut down.

My job is to write down all the stories they tell me. I never try to tell them what their story is because that usually guarantees they will stop talking to me. I sit and let them talk to me. If they seem to head down a rabbit trail, I will remind them where we were and what they were saying, but I never change what they have to say.

I am a writer, and this is my dream.

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