The Frustration of Suffering an Inconstant Muse

The melody, a sweet refrain inspires me to try again. To caress the button, which leads to magic, contained in a moderate metal box.

The whirring as each element springs to life, within minutes I feel the nerves rise as a pristine glow appears before me. A few taps and clicks and it’s time to begin. But what will be the result of this whim?

The dream re-emerges, a longing rarely quelled. The safest route to let words flow. To let my creativity be compelled.

But a fear which never abandons its post, prevents the confidence required. As the blank page slowly fills, no true sense of completion shall ever be acquired.

Inspiration is a fickle friend, there until she’s needed. And attempts to mete out the initial burst fail miserably. Until the urge for abandonment is acceded.

Idolatry feels natural and a necessary fragment of artistic stimulation but disillusion and self-doubt rapidly rear a rigidity in prose until fear of failure overcomes and finally the page is closed.