Be My Own Muse

Book Loading. . .

Coming Soon . . .

Currently raising the funds to finish editing and print the first novel. If your heart calls to donate, feel free, no obligations. xx

Click the link to donate.

The first in a series from Mildred’s Stories. A tale of a girl with too many concussions, bumbling through the world, who became a woman while on the run from herself. Whom does she search for? Her “big” love story, of course. She was overcome by rhythm and note. Mildred caught herself humming along to a tune she hadn’t intended to linger alongside. She settled for the bits she gleaned from others, naming that love. 

“My psychic powers are linked to my…” her voice trailed off, “Premonitions make me tingly down there,” said Millie.

Sabs rolled her eyes, “Dude, that’s getting turned on.”

What does a woman do when merely nothing happens to her? Do the shiny glimmers we get from others count? If we add them all together, do the fragments equate to love in their entirety? Is love enough? Does it matter, even?

Mildred’s story was never about love.

The great loves. Are there truly three?

Prologue:

 Do you believe in magic? No, me either, until a few knocks to my brain convinced me otherwise. My best friend Sabin says we’re witches and that we only use our power for good. If not, ill-intended casting comes back to find you threefold. 

I suppose I have had visions my entire life. I call them dreams. Sometimes they come true. When I was younger, I thought all my dreams were about me. Now that I’ve traveled and seen my dreams in the world, I realize my eyes see stories of strangers I have never met. 

On the evening of a Blue Moon, I found myself in the backyard, wearing nothing but a tattered robe. In one hand was a white tea candle. The other held a lock of red hair. Without meaning to, I began to cast a spell…

“Fire for fire, 

Match me.

I will give you all that you desire.”

After summoning her three times, I said, “Mote it be.”

…

What about love? If love is known to be temporary, does that make the moment unnecessary?

What of the myth? The myth is that there are three great loves in life. Have you heard the theory? In life there are three big loves. The first usually transpires in youth. Enlivened with hormones, this love is hot, impassioned, and classic. It is a love worthy of parents’ approval. If one held to belief, the second was a love of lessons usually resulting from a great struggle—bitterness, growth, and wish for what could have been ensuing. The third love is the love that was never seen coming. This is the last one. The “big” love is the soul-shattering partner that rocks a body to the core. 

“What do I think of this?” 

Millie said aloud to Mee-mow. She sat atop the quilt covering her bed, petting his head, “Could this be true? Once to three, if you are not indeed satiated, what does this imply? In other cases, if you find but one stuttering bump in your life, to whom you truly feel lonesome, always. What then?” She had moved up the stairs to the top of her loft and was shouting to Mow below. He hopped swiftly up the steps toward her, meowing a response as he tottered. “Moo, what about you and me? If we are nothing but stumblers, prone never fully to land, eyes not always open, where is love then?” He let out a loud meow of agreement. She petted his head as he purred. He sat beside her at eye level on the railing, watching the colors of the leaves change, feverish with color only weeks ago now fading to a bleak brown. 

One day it rains down from the heavens, a pour so incredible that she could barely breathe. On other days it was a stream, perfect hydration rate, and sublimation. Her brain leaked a slow ooze, steady, murky, working to pull her forward. Days blur, tap, blat, a smattering. A whisper, then nothing, as she stuttered. Her life was at a standstill once more. In a breath it could feel like the stars were aligning, as clouds break free to reveal a perfect rhythmic tune.

All rights reserved. This blog, book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher.