At my Wythall Writers last night we explored who our muse was. We had to describe them and write a conversation down that we had with them. I found this task exeptionally hard but managed something:
My muse is my imagination. It stems from a grin, a tear or a breathless body. It forces me to ask why, create reason, throw in some conflict and seek resolution.
I ask “Why are you lying there breathless body?”. They don’t answer so I make it up for them.