My Muse is Here… And He’s Stupendo!


Do you read Julie Holmes’ Facets of a Muse blog? (If you don’t, you should.) I’ve been reading it for a while now, and she and I exchange comments often.

What struck me from the beginning was her muse. She shares many of their conversations. I was jealous because I never had a muse. I muddle along, all alone in my writerly world (save for my characters, but that’s a story for another time).

One day, Julie went to a writers’ conference. While she was gone, her muse went to a muses’ conference. Who knew such a thing existed? But that’s when I realized her muse had friends.

I got a brilliant idea. (Or so I thought.)

I asked Julie to ask her muse if he could find me one.

He happily accepted the challenge. I, unfortunately, have two excitable dogs. They scared my potential muse away before I ever set eyes on him, leaving me to continue on my own. I sheepishly explained what happened, and Julie kindly relayed the situation to her muse. And he rose to the challenge.

Something you should know about Julie’s muse. He seems to delight in tormenting writers… Julie especially. In a loving way, of course. He is, after all, primarily a being of inspiration, not torture. I was looking for more of a cheerleader, but either muses only come with one personality, or Julie’s muse recruited someone just like him.

The second muse he sent ticked all the boxes. (And a few more that aren’t on my list.)

  • Loves dogs.
  • Is Italian.
  • Is VERY creative.
  • Inspires. A lot. And I mean A LOT.

Muse at PoolUnfortunately, he loves my pool. Fortunately, I’m currently writing a steamy romance series about alpha male bodyguards, so there’s a chance I can use that to my favor.

Note the look of irritation and confusion on his face. (That’s right; I need you to look at his face. Sorry to tear you away from… other things.) That’s the look he gave me the first time he nudged my writing in a particular direction and I didn’t immediately get to work. (I was distracted at the time, so it took me a while to react. It was an honest mistake. I’m sure you understand.)

He’s been giving me that look a lot. I’m trying to do better, though.

Yesterday’s interaction went something like this.

He climbed from the pool, rivulets of water sluicing down his body. “Cara mia. What are you doing?” He rubbed the soft terry towel across his broad torso, whisking away the glistening sheen of water on his skin. Then he slung it over his shoulders, hanging onto the dangling tails. His biceps rippled, his knuckles whitened.

I knew I shouldn’t have opened the window, but he’d been singing “You Belong to Me” and his voice rumbled—a deep, rich timbre that made my stomach clench. The song had captured my attention. Then I looked at the singer, and I was struck dumb. In more ways than one.


(I mentioned he has an Italian accent, right? And occasionally uses Italian phrases? Do you still wonder why I get distracted?)

“Sorry. I heard you singing, and I opened the window so I could hear better.”

“But you’re not supposed to be listening to music.” He hung the towel over the back of a chaise, lowered himself, then started applying oil to his already-dark skin. “You’re supposed to be writing.” He lowered the back of the chair and closed his eyes, drinking in the sun. Then he opened one eye and peered at me. “I’ll stop singing if you get back to work.”

What a strange way to negotiate. It was no hardship to look—er, to listen to him.

“Don’t make me get tough with you,Β cara.” His voice dropped another octave.

It curled my toes.

“I’m going. I’m going.” I closed the window, but not the blinds. I guess I didn’t return to my story fast enough. Through the glass, I could hear him singing “The Best is Yet to Come.” Only guy I’ve ever seen sing with a Cheshire smile on his face.

I think I’m in trouble. He’s ever-present and quite insistent that I get to work. He’s glowering at me now just because I’m writing this.

Blogging is good for interacting with others, cara, but it doesn’t add words to your WIP, does it?

So, I have to sign off now. Apparently I have work to do. Julie, I’m sure I owe you a huge “thanks” but I’m starting to wonder if I would have been better off on my own.

Sigh. He’s growling at me. I really have to go. Later!

Published by Staci Troilo

A writer fascinated with interpersonal relationships, the importance of family, and the relevance of heritage. Learn more at

28 thoughts on “My Muse is Here… And He’s Stupendo!

  1. LOL! Sorry I’m late on this; my daughter is going off to college this week, so you know how it goes. OMG, WOW! I knew my Muse had some friends… Now I know why he’s never introduced me to any of them πŸ˜€ I love the idea of Muse of the Day, but I’m sure my Muse would quash that event before it started. So glad he works out–er, is working out for you, er… yeah. Anyway, I can see how you’d be distracted by his, um, singing. (or the oil. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that πŸ˜€ ) Hmm. Maybe I should ask for a backup to my Muse. You know, like when he goes out to muse conventions.

    Then again, with my luck, he’d send a substitute that looks like Diana’s barbarian merc muse. Or some less visually-appealing garden gnome or something.

    This was sooo much fun! Gotta go; I’m getting the stink-eye from you know who πŸ˜€

    Liked by 2 people

    1. God help us if we had a Muse of the Day. I’d be a blubbering heap on the ground. Unless, of course, it was a garden gnome muse. I could maybe handle that.

      Enjoy your time with your daughter. Mine left yesterday, which was hard. But she’s already called me once today, so it’s making the withdrawal easier.

      You better get back to work, now. Me, too. Those dirty looks get to me! I hate to think what would happen if we ignored them. πŸ˜‰

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I’ve had a Muse from the beginning. She’s a bit harsh at times, but helps me more than I can tell you. (She makes me capitalize Muse.) Hope he helps you reach new levels of imagination and productivity.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Now you have me so jealous! lol πŸ™‚ I haven’t ever had a muse, I’m afraid. And if I did, he probably wouldn’t be a nice attractive Italian, lol … perhaps just as well! Happy looking … er … writing, Staci πŸ™‚

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Maybe my muse has a colleague who looks like David Beckham. I could ask… Although, truth be told, I’m not sure this was a great idea. I think I might have been more productive before I had a muse.

      Liked by 2 people

  4. Oh, yes. I can see you’ve been Mused. Muse-ated? Muselled? At any rate, I congratulate you on such a fine specimen of Muse. Long may he inspire.

    Around here, it’s a bit different. I’m a bit more fickle, and prefer a variety of Muses. (My fantasy, my rules). You might say, I enjoy checking out the Muse du Jour each morning. Today, it’s a sexy, black-haired, blue-eyed Irish pirate named Killian Jones. Yesterday, it was a brawny Scottish fella. In a kilt. (Of course.) Who knows what tomorrow’s Muse will be? Perhaps a Vikingly sort of inspiration will set the tone. After all, tomorrow is Wodin’s Day. πŸ˜€

    Great post, Staci. And LOVELY image, too! Muse on, dear girl, Muse on. ❀

    Liked by 2 people

      1. I am STRRRRONG, like . . . er . . . hmmm. ‘Bull’ just doesn’t work here, does it? Yet STRRRRONG like cow is downright silly. So, nevermiiiind. Just take it from me, when it comes to fantasies, I can handle it. πŸ˜€

        Liked by 2 people

  5. Oh my! I’m starting getting jealous of your muse too, but I’m not sure my husband would appreciate me finding one for myself… I expect to read a lot of juicy interactions on your blog in the future!

    Liked by 2 people

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