Conversations With My Muse - Duct Tape Edition

Image in Public Domain as a faithful reproduction
of a work of art in the Public Domain.
It was hard to ignore my muse. Really. She pestered me until I had to put duct tape over her mouth. She still managed to make her presence known, but I didn’t let her get to me. Nope. I needed the break. I took a month off from blogging and promoting my books so I could get some much needed rest. Too bad the month wasn’t very restful. But that’s another story.

So recently I tore the duct tape from muse’s mouth and we had this conversation:

Muse: What the—

Me: Don’t give me attitude! I needed a break. You know how exhausted I was.

Muse: But I’ve had all these ideas. You really should get it together, girl. Your muse isn’t going to wait forever, you know. One of these days, I’m going to go dry. Caput! Finito! The End! And then where will you be? You’ll be a has-been hack! (Note: never call a writer a has-been hack)

Me (with a really fake horrified look): Oh no, you can’t desert me! I need you!

Muse: Oh stop it with the pretendsies. You know you need me. You can’t write without me—

Me: You are a little too sold on yourself. (I study my fingernails.)

Muse (rolls eyes): All writers are divas. (Wait! Can a muse rolls her eyes? Never mind. This is my imagination, so yeah…Mine can.)

Me: You know, that’s a little insulting and…a blanket generalization. If you think you deserve a more…cooperative writer to harass, then feel free to find someone else to pester.

Muse (obviously ignoring my bluff): What’s with the duct tape, anyway? That crap hurts when you yank it off.

Me: I know. (Smiles wickedly.) You know what they say…

Muse: No. What?

Me: Duct tape is the Southerner’s tool of choice. If you can’t fix it with duct tape, it can’t be fixed.

Muse: Whatdaya mean? I am not broken! That is just mean-spirited. You can’t treat me like that!

Me: But I did…

Muse: You’re being ungrateful…again.

Me (tearing off a strip of duct tape): You know, I can—

Muse: No! Wait! I have an idea. Just listen…

Me: Okay, I’m listening.

Muse: So there was this gal with a roll of duct tape—

Me (nods appreciatively): Now you’re talking. Tell me more.


Sunday Showcase - When Noonday Ends by Carmen DeSousa #5PP

Today, I'd like to showcase a book by my fellow 5 Prince Publishing author, Carmen DeSousa.

When a new attorney accepts a case of a woman accused of attempted homicide, he finds himself entwined in age-old secrets and a family that will stop at nothing to conceal them—even murder.

You can read an excerpt from the book on Carmen's Blog here.

You can purchase When Noonday Ends at the following links.


It's the day after #ReleaseDay and I am Still Pumped! #CrisisofIdentity

It's the day after 5 Prince Publishing released my newest full length book, Crisis of Identity, and I am still pumped!

Here's a excerpt:

The unrepentant sunshine streamed through the cracks, jubilant in its victory over the storm. Only five days since the devastation of Hurricane Irving and the sun acted as if nothing had ever happened. I turned away from the brightness with an ill-tempered snort.

Jake caught up with me on the gym floor. “Did you get any sleep?” His question hit me as a trifle vindictive.

“No. But you did.”

“I snore.” He grinned. Then his smile faded. “I thought you’d be gone this morning.”

“Why? I have to finish the job.”


The thought that pestered me all night erupted from my mouth. “What happens to that woman when you catch her?”

“She’ll go back to jail.” He stopped by the double doors and folded his arms over his chest, blocking my path. “Then she’ll go to trial.”

“What if she did what she had to do?”

“There was no evidence it was self defense.”

I stared hard at his implacable fa├žade. How could the man be alternately warm and cold, compassionate and hard, flexible and unyielding? I stepped around him and entered the gym. There were already bodies lined up waiting for our initial inspection, so I began the task of collecting information from my column of the dead. The hours passed as I searched pockets and noted identifying characteristics on those with no papers or markings. I glanced toward the open door as two men begin loading the last group onto a waiting truck.

One more victim to notate. I squatted next to her. Even in partial decay, her features were enough like mine it pushed me back on my heels. I lifted her arm. My breath hitched. Her Social Security number was so nearly like mine. I scanned the gym. Jake, the one man who might care if she became me or I became her, was absent. With a few strokes of the pen, I could die and live again.

My heart pounded with the possibility I might get a chance to start over without the baggage of my past dragging me down. I changed her identity with a few swipes of a permanent marker. The number went onto my log with an unshaken hand, and I was free to escape the woman I used to be…the woman I didn’t want to be any longer.

Crisis of Identity is available at 5 Prince PublishingAmazonitunesSmashwordsBarnes & Noble, and in Print from Createspace.

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