My Muse is talking. Mumbling, really. She's playing with something shiny, but she's not prepared yet to tell me what it is. It's like the scene in The Neverending Story where the Empress is holding the one grain of glowing sand that contains innumerable possibilities. I'm not pressing her on it, not yet. There may be innumerable possibilites there, but they still need darkness and quiet to determine what they'll be.
Here's what she seems to be playing with, from the glimpses I've been given.
Many interesting bits there, though I've no idea what to make of them. I'm logging this post under "Sun" until a better project title comes to me. (If this is a project. No pressure, Muse.) Somewhat related: what is it that I have this obsession with divinely-appointed prostitutes?
Consecutive days of writing: 002
Word count since 4/30/09: 1244
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