I am Finny’s muse.  Her unnamed, fickle inspiration she (affectionately) calls Lazy Bum.

I’ll have you know,  I am awesome.

The Finnster just has a hard time seeing it.  We’re kind of entwined, you know, two minds, one body and all?  I like to slouch back into bed and curl up with other fantabulous works of creativity written by other brilliant authors instead of sit in front of the computer with that mocking cursor blinking at me, er, HER, and in turn feeling that familiar poke.  It’s a little one, at first.  A nudge with the tip of her foot.

“Hey,” she says.  ”Get up.  I have to work.”

“So work,” I retort, nose in the air.  ”Let me sleep.”

Finny sighs, her shoulders curve forward in defeat or frustration — I can’t tell which.  ”You know, Nora Roberts says you don’t exist.  Other writers say if I wait for the muse to come, I’ll be waiting my whole damn life.”

She waits a beat while I pick the dirt out from under my fingernails.  I worked hard enough last month.  I deserve a vacay.

“Looks like they’re right,” she huffs, turning back to her computer with a slight pout and a crinkled brow.

Over the last month or so, she’s been upset with me.  I’ve been on vacay, see?  For weeks now.  Weeks.  I have to tell you, fantabulous.  The blissful beaches of Hawai’i, the vineyards of Napa, and the party-hardy nights in Miami… and I might’ve paid a visit to that half-built world she and I dreamed up together a few months ago, something for the Elemental brats.  But while I have traveled far and wide in the shifting thoughts of her mind, I’ve always managed to stay far away from the shackles she keeps me in.

Do you know what kind of horrendous digs she has me holed up in here, people?  Disgraceful, I tell you!  I demand better accommodations, lush food, a prettier locale, and an inspiring view of the water!

Nothing.  I get none of these.  She claims we have to work for it.  Imagine that?  Work.  More.

C’est la vie, she tells me, and I ought to get used to it.

Uh-oh.  She’s coming back for her computer… and what’s that?  I think those are cuffs!  Cuffs?  Wait, wait!  I can be good.  I can work.  I can feed you ideas, see?  Um, what if a boy grew up, witnessed the death of his older sister-figure who was once destined to right certain wrongs, right?  What if he grows up and gets designated as protector of the next prophesied one?  Yes, you like?  No?

We can throw in a little romance?  A dog?  What about your mongrel — er, puppy?  No?

Crap.

LB, out.