Plunked down at Bar Harbor, I always thought this would make a great writing cave. I can just see it in the snow. A gal could stretch her legs, too. Maybe get a pint at the end of the word count day.

In an effort to make Throwback Thursday — #tbt — about writing, because when this blog first began it was all about writing, here’s a post about the writer’s muse and a throwback to my first muse.

Muse ~

noun (Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, 10th ed.)

1. any of the nine sister goddesses in Greek mythology presiding over song and poetry and the arts and music;

2.  a source of inspiration; esp: a guiding genius;

3.  poet

And most dictionaries agree that that source of inspiration is female.

None of my muses over the years have been female, and I’ve known a few. Though I wouldn’t mind Lily Tomlin lounging on a chair, playing poker in a corner of my brain. Good times.

I don’t think much about a muse anymore. I just get on with the writing.

Imaginary friends?

That’s another matter entirely.

Sven showed up with the 70 Days of Sweat Challenge, aka Sweating with Sven. In a nutshell, writers signed on (much like NaNoWriMo or Book in a Year or…) to write 70 to 100,000 words in 70 days. Author Alison Kent was the force behind this challenge, along with Larissa Ione, Stephanie Tyler and Jo Leigh.

It worked like this.

You supplied your book title, hero’s name and occupation, heroine’s name and occupation, the setting and the length when you signed on. And it was off to the races, reporting in word count on Wednesdays and Sundays. I used to have a sweat-o-meter in the side bar. Good times.

I did this challenge more than once and met many fine writers along the way. Lots of cheering and good fun.

Here I am waiting for Sven for the second challenge. I think…

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Once upon a time… No. Wait. It was a dark…

I’m waiting for Sven. I’m showered and on the mat. I’ve had my breakfast of champions and my multi-vits. I didn’t shave my legs, so I’m wearing sweats. What Sven doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, I’m pretty sure he didn’t shave his legs either. I’ve got cross-trainers bunny slippers on my feet and my writer’s cap on. The CD from Lara Croft Tomb Raider is in the player.

Here comes the mat master now. He’s as hawt as I remembered — distractingly so. He just gave me the head-to-toe once over. I think he’s loving those bunny slippers, the size of my writer’s butt not so much. Uh-oh. He’s flashing the grin that makes my little Sven-sweating heart tremble…..not in a good way.

And, so it begins.

Once upon a time… (2008)

Elen

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Next #tbt muse post, you’ll hear about Conn. He gave me the most trouble. That would be Capital T trouble.

And my Throwback Thursday work here is done.

Elen