The Subconscious Pookalicious Wookie Buns & the Tale of the Asian Muse
I used to be told I was borderline crabby some of the time. People said that, but they didn’t really mean it. Nope. What they were really saying is I was downright crabby most of the time, only they were being nice because of that whole aforementioned crabby thing. You don’t poke a dog with a stick when he looks like he’s not in the mood. You gently rub behind his ears and subtly suggest he stop acting like a beyotch. This is the third week since resigning from my previous job and the changes I’ve been able to implement thus far have improved my mood, cut down on my use of obscenities and the involuntary constant blinking while also improving the relationship with my muse. More on that shortly. I still wake up early each morning to call Pookie, make sure he wakes up for work and have the pleasure of dealing with his ever-conniving subconscious personality.
“Good morning, my little Singapore noodle eating Cantonese love log!” I usually try to kickstart him right away. If I don’t, he’ll fall asleep in thirty seconds and I have to call him back once his phone hangs up.
“I want to go back to sleep.”
“I know you do, my little nest of vipers, but you have minions at work who will miss your abuse if you don’t.”
“You should go back to sleep, too.”
“I thought about it, my bombastic basket of black widows, but if I hang up now, you’d just roll over, go back to sleep yourself, then call me later on and complain that I didn’t get you up.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will. So, what did you do last night? Scour the island for potential fresh victims for when Grandma comes to visit?” This is where I force him into consciousness to give me details that will annoy him to the point he’ll realize he also has to use the bathroom, thereby making him remain awake for the duration of the day.
“I went to sleep. You know, you really should go back to sleep. It helps you lose weight.”
“Are you… Did you…” Did he? Ooh, I think he went there. “Are you calling me fat? You’re the one who keeps saying I’m turning into one of those guys you like watching in the videos I can’t stand.”
“I didn’t say that,” he responds coyly.
I realize at this point exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to irk me so I’ll hang up. And when I do, he’ll turn over and go back to sleep with zero memory and zero accountability of what he’s just said.
I spend the next fifteen minutes forcing his subconscious back where it belongs, astral projecting to spend the day with his Grandmonster in Hong Kong. They deserve each other.
Now, I’ve mentioned in a previous post or two…or three…that I’ve been spending a ton of time cleaning the flat. It’s 90% done. It’s done to the point where I can walk in the place and not think “Unholy hell, Fag Man! This place is a disaster!” No way. No how. It looks so much better, plus it’s now mostly upkeep. There are a few things left to work on, but they’re minor and I’m now able to divert time to make amends with my muse. She’s feeling a little neglected and annoyed.
“Oh, it’s you. Do I know you? So, you think you’re a writer again? Really? Just be lucky you’re the only one who seems to be able to hear me, otherwise I’d have left your cute tight little bum when you were still trying to channel me to write a few amusing Facebook updates. Are you going to give me problems this time? You gonna disagree with me? Are you going to try that ‘oh, no, we need to go this direction’ in a story after I tell you we’re going another way? You didn’t seem to learn the first few times and what happened? That’s right. You were wrong! And we lost a couple of days we could have been doing something far more interesting than acknowledging your way-too-numerous faults. And…oh, don’t you threaten me saying you’ll introduce me to the Grandmonster! I’ll chew that bitch up and spit her out like the evil piece of karma she is, then turn my attention back to you!”
Fortunately, we’re getting along fabulously these past few days. I know this because I’ve been working on the Spacehunters short story for the Butt Pirates In Space anthology and been laughing my head off. I know a number of writers who are very comfortable using outlines. I’m not. I’ve once again been starting with dialogue, then building a scene around that. The best part for me is looking at the first draft of a scene, reading it out loud, sitting back and letting all the “It would be funny or funnier if you’d said or done this” come to me. And when something makes me laugh out loud, then I know it’s exactly what I need to do. There’s been quite a bit of it lately, so I know there’s that much-needed simpatico going on with my muse.
Some muses tell people “Eat the chocolate.” Mine says “Listen to me, you ass! You’re going to do it my way or I swear you’ll never publish again.”
I think my muse may be Asian.
Kage Alan is the Tales of the Gold Monkey watching, Ryan Farish listening author of “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to My Sexual Orientation,” “Andy Stevenson Vs. the Lord of the Loins” and the first book in a separate series, “Gaylias: Operation Thunderspell.” He finally made it to the laundromat to clean his clothes after a week and a half. Naturally, he waited until the day temperature is supposed to go back up into the 90s. Hey, he never claimed to be smart. Just lucky.