I live, as I suspect most writers do, between the Siren and the Muse.

The Muse is present with me now. Strong in her encouragement, her ideas, and her suggestions.

Yet, just outside my studio door lurks the Siren. She is dressed in the colors of Facebook, television, or mindless reading. Perhaps disguised as a warm comfortable bed, calling out with her song enticing me with a lullaby.

I’m determined to sit here with the Muse just a little longer.

Now, the Muse arrives in the fascination of pen to paper. Not just any pen, mind you but a fountain pen and the fine cream paper of a new Moleskine. The words flow as as finely as the ink. Thoughts smearing forth onto the page. Even my non-artistic scrawls appear legendary.

Many days the Siren is named Procrastination. She also answers to the moniker “Excuse”. It is so much easier to hear her laud raucous beckoning than that quiet but persistent voice of the Muse.

Despite the protests of the Siren, the Muse is always present and ready to dictate if I will listen. She stands beside, me ready to whisper her wisdom. If I can lock the door on the Siren just long enough, the Muse will catch my attention.

I tilt my head, listening carefully, shutting out the frustration and regret of the Siren. I choose the Muse with her reward of creativity and prose.

Today I have chosen wisely. I hear you sweet Muse. Get behind me Siren.