Often my muse bears an uncanny resemblance to my latest hero. Usually he is tall, dark haired, dark eyed, with large expressive hands, full lips, and a killer bod. Hey, a muse is supposed to inspire you know.
Most of the time my muse hangs out in the living room or the bedroom. Why the bedroom? Girls, I write erotic romance. Where else should he be? Unfortunately, when he's in the living room he tends to watch guy movies and NASCAR. Worse yet, I think he likes football. Yeah. Just like a real man.
I mean, he's my fantasy, ya know? He's supposed to think like Alan Alda but look Kevin Smith and make love like my favorite porn star.
So why does the guy have a mind of his own? I mean it's just not fair. Yes, I'm whining, but why shouldn't I? After all, last year he went on a road trip to tropical climes and left me home. I was NOT happy with him when he deserted me. Of course I made him pay when he finally returned. I'm a bitch that way.
This year my muse has been a pretty good boy. Not a lap dog, by any stretch of the imagination, but he's stayed pretty close. I don't know - maybe it's the price of gasoline.
Actually, I think it's because he likes being viewed as my "knight in shining armor." Literally. Since, I've started writing medieval I think he may have been giving me back rubs and kissing my neck. What pleases him so? I asked too, and I think a muse really likes it when you find your voice and with my medieval paranormal erotic romance, I think I found mine. It felt comfortable. It felt right. Such a feeling is rare, so at this moment in time my muse and I are in harmony and working well together.
The one problem? Football season starts in about a month. Be afraid. Be very afraid. I am.