he started
late in life
somewhere in
his early fifties
if I recall
and in just a few
very short years he
became
the inspiration and the
motivation for all
things associated with
late blooming
He sure proved to the
world that it’s never
too late for
dreams
«But what made you start?»
I once asked him
and he said, «a fingernail.»
Clearly he wanted me to ask,
‘A fingernail!? Oh my God,
what in heavens do you
actually mean by that, sir?’
but I kept silent
just watched him
and then he
went on
«Yeah. One day
at the age of fifty-three
I just found this
broken fingernail
lying on the floor of my
bedroom. I’ve never even
spoken to a woman in well
over ten years, let alone inviting
one over. Hahah!
So you can imagine my shock
as I observed that broken
fingernail just lying around on
the floor.
Fear was obviously the first,
most primal feeling that
inundated my soul.
And I was right to fear.
For I was indeed stalked
and about to be possessed.
And that, my friend, is how I met
my muse.
It wasn’t some apparition
coming and looking for
her broken fingernail. No. It was
all my fear and morbid curiosity
that brought her into my life,
summoned her
if you will. The mind conjured her
up and
as I started writing about
her, about the event of finding
that fingernail
on my bedroom floor, our
relationship caught
outlines.
But one thing I do know
and that is that
it’s different for every writer.
Your muse might not come to
you in the form mine did,
but don’t give up. Keep
looking, my friend.
And one day, one night, you might
just be surprised by
what you’ll find.»
I thanked him for the
advice and went
home and got drunk
«You wanna write about it
sometime?» she
asked
«Sometime,» I said. «Sure. But not
today.
Today let’s just get drunk and
feel shit and
sit in silence.»
We really
did that
all night
and on the next day
we started writing again

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