While looking through my files, I happened across copies of stories in journals I didn’t remember had been accepted! Not a bad problem to face. One of the finds was a drabble that appeared in The Boston Literary Magazine, Summer 2007. And just for the sake of interest, I include the comment the editor made in her acceptance email: We really loved The Muse Effect and want to include it in our summer issue, which we will be pulling together next week. It was masterful, with such a satisfying ending.
Certainly you might not call it “masterful” but I hope you find it amusing.
He’d never wanted to be anyone’s muse. That much was clear, but there was something about the elixir of his skin that made her want to strum her guitar and experiment with lyrics.
“Why don’t you want to be my muse?” she asked in the hollow of the night, Roxy Music in the background. She swirled her third Ramos Gin Fizz.
“Why should I? Too much responsibility. I don’t want to be attached to anyone. Find someone else.” He hung up.
Didn’t matter. His very existence ignited her soul, inspired rhythm, inspired rhyme.
No way could he shirk that fate.