Angels

My latest two drawings were commissioned by a fellow co-worker to these ladies, and he wanted them depicted as angels.

A Writer's Muse

Many writers will know by experience what it's like to have characters speaking with them all hours of the day and night. For those who don't, I've written a short story with illustrations to demonstrate.


My character's name is Elenore, just so ya know.

Elenore pokes my brain at 12:09 am, just as I'm dozing off into slumber land. "I say, wake up!"

"I'm trying to sleep." I grumble.

Elenore stands over me, dressed in a fine gown and pokes me again. "Wake up! I have an idea for the next scene. The very scene you have struggled over with for the last two weeks."

"Great. Tell me in the morning." I roll over and stretch my legs down to my toes.

1:17 am

"No. That will not do. I must speak with you now. Lord and Lady Burtwood will start their diner party presently, and you need to know what happens."

I exhale with great annoyance and sit up. I lean over and pull at the laptop I kept under my bed, but find the cord caught under stacks of books. Dirty rotten thing. Let go! Now a little light headed from my exertion, I sit up and turn on the laptop, only to be blinded by the bright screen. With one eye open, I begin my notes.

"No." Elenore said, "You must write down the scene in its entirety. You must know what is conversed among those in the drawing room."

"Notes will have to do." I said. "I've got to get up early."

Elenore complains for some time before giving up and letting me sleep.

The next morning . . .

"Elenore! Not right now! I can't write it in the shower!"

She ignores my insistence and tells me every detail from the beginning until the end of the novel.

Twenty minutes later . . .

"Uh, oh, Elenore. I forgot everything you just said."

She folds her arms, scowls at me and give me the silent treatment.

A few hours later . . .

Elenore forgives me for my absentmindedness and begins her story again, but while I am driving.

"Elenore, why do you insist on speaking to me now?" I tell her while I'm trying to keep my attention on where I'm going. She continues, despite my protests. I relax and listen to her story, getting caught up in the drama. "Oh crap!" I sit up higher and check my mirrors, "I missed my turn!"

Later that evening when the kids are in bed . . .

"Okay, Elenore." I sit at my laptop with fingers poised, ready to type. "I'm ready. What was it you said earlier?" I wait. "Elenore?"

Nothing.

"Elenore?"

Still nothing.

"Fine. Be that way." I wonder what's on Facebook?