My muse is wonderfully creative, inspiring, and she's out to get me. Yes, we, as writers, owe our muses a lot. They help us transform boring words into captivating and inspiring poetry and stories, but at what cost?

Consider the timing of those ideas which pop into our heads seemingly from nowhere. Go ahead, list where you were and what you were doing the last few times your muse visited, leaving you inspirational words or an awesome idea. Or, repeat after me, "My muse strikes at the most inconvenient times and places." Still in denial? I'll cite a few of my own examples to jog your repressed memory. I develop plot in the shower, refine characters in the swimming pool, and braid story threads while driving. I've even thought of great dialogue during the throws of... well, you know - an awkward time to say, "hold that thought, honey, I have to write something down."

"Coincidence," you say, defending my muse. "Hardly." You see, I need to write things down, and my muse knows that, otherwise she'd appear when I'm at my desk, prepared to write. Instead, she strikes when pen and paper are nowhere near. I've scratched notes onto my arm, used lipstick on toilet paper, and even left a pool repeating "hair in soup" over and over again (out loud, of course) so I'd remember what finally drove my antagonist overboard.

For those of you who believe you're one step ahead of dear ironic Muse by keeping a notepad on your nightstand, in the car, or in your jacket, you've been deceived. Those well-placed notebooks capture the meat and bones of our stories, not the revelations which make our stories sail. After all, Muse needs to keep the game alive; it's no fun playing alone.

When does it end? Will I ever make it through baking pumpkin pie without having to shake the flour free and switch from rolling pin to ballpoint pen before forgetting what my muse whispered in my ear? Perhaps that is the price we pay as writers, more than sore backs and cramped fingers from writing into the wee hours of the night.

As for why my muse torments me so, it's simple. She has a sense of humor. If this is the price I must pay, so be it - for now. One day I'll outsmart my muse.

By the way, I was elbow high in pie flour when my muse struck me with this story idea. The keyboard is now full of dough, as I would not be outdone. I refused to lose my story idea and at last I bested my muse. At least I think I did. I'll mull it over while I'm cleaning my keyboard.