Finding My Muse By Tiffany B. Quinn I have been abandoned by my Muse. For the last twelve months, my creativity has been non-existent. When the BigCloset New Year's Resolution Story Contest appeared, I felt an overwhelming urge to participate. Unfortunately, I was totally on my own without any inspiration within view. Another writer friend told me that he was pretty sure that all nine of the Greek Muse's were on a holiday break in the South Pacific. This is the story of how I tracked down my Muse while searching for an entry into the BigCloset New Year's Resolution Contest.

------<Mid December 2023>-----

It's been almost a year, I remind myself, since I last wrote anything worth posting.

Staring back at me from my computer screen is the challenge to write something short for the BigCloset 2024 New Year's Resolution Contest. I can usually skip the contest invitations but something inside me is compelling me to rise to this particular challenge. The invitation has been popping up daily for the past couple of weeks like some kind of grotesque challenge to my missing creativity. Every time that I log into the site, it seems as if that bold invitation is the first thing I see. When I am away from my computer, the challenge echoes around in the back of my mind. I can't escape it. I know that I have to write, but just can't.

My Muse is on vacation.

A retired law enforcement friend of mine writes suspense/crime novels. He's good at it having made the New York Times Best Sellers list a few times. A few years ago I told him that I was dabbling in creative writing but struggled for inspiration. Unlike him, my professional background did not lend itself to anything more interesting than technical textbooks. My few attempts at fiction are based on my fantasies, not real life experience. Besides advising me to enroll in creative writing classes at the local university, he mentioned that he gets his best inspiration sitting on a beach in the Cook Islands in December and January. He says that it is rumored that the Muses have an annual retreat on one of the islands and he finds that being close to them fills him with great inspiration. I have an open invitation to join him and his wife at the beach house they rent every year.

Looking out my home office window at a lot of snow and temperatures well below freezing, I am reminded of my friend's invitation. A quick email exchange confirms that the invitation is still open, so I book a ridiculously expensive round trip ticket to the South Pacific island paradise of Rarotonga. From there, I am instructed to catch a local flight to the atoll of Aitutaki. My plan is to stay a week.

I am not sure if the lure of the beach or the lure of the contest is my main driving force. Being retired myself and single after my wife passed a few years ago, I have the time.

Anyway, I will chalk it up to meeting my New Year's resolution to step up my writing game. It doesn't hurt that there should be copious amounts warmth and sunshine.

-------<December 29, 2023>------

Looking out the window of the small commuter plane I see lots of thunderheads and scattered rain all around us as we touch down on the surprising huge runway on this hard to reach atoll. Apparently the runways were built, but hardly used, by the US military during WWII and left to the locals after the war.

My buddy failed to mention that this is the rainy season in the South Pacific. Well with consistently warm weather (78F to 81F, 25C to 27C) every day, the wet shouldn't be too bad. It is definitely better than 10F (-12C) and dark back home.

My buddy Marc meets me at the shack that makes up the local airport and welcomes me to his home away from home. When we reach their bungalow overlooking the turquoise lagoon his wife Sally has a light lunch ready on the covered deck as a light rain shower passes overhead. The house is set just above a pristine beach only yards away. It is the definition of paradise.

"I was expecting more sunshine," I mention while observing the rain with a scowl.

"You'll get it," Marc assures me. "Just wait an hour until this shower passes. Wait for sunset. These clouds get lit up by the setting sun like nothing you've ever seen."

"I can see why you keep coming down here," I observe, "This place is absolutely gorgeous. I can't see how you can write murder mysteries in a place like this."

"It's not the setting," he smiles. "It is the proximity to the Muses."

He points to a nearby island with bungalows over the water. "They hang out over there between Christmas and New Years. A couple of them often hang around for a couple of more weeks."

"Have you talked with them?" I ask.

"Don't need to," he tells me, "I can just feel their energy from here. Once you start writing you will know what I mean."

After a very pleasant lunch, catching up on old times, I excuse myself to take a walk on the beach hoping for a boost of creative energy. I am starting to think that I should have booked two weeks instead of one.

No solid ideas come to me during my walk, but hopefully that will change soon.

When I get back, I find Marc sitting on the deck with his laptop, pounding furiously on the keys. He is so focused that I decide to not interrupt. I don't think that he even noticed me.

"He's in another world," Sally points out when I venture inside the house. "When inspiration hits, he can check out of the world for a couple of days at a time. I have to make sure he remembers to eat and sleep."

"Does this happen all the time?" I ask.

She laughs, "That is why we are here. By the way, there are quite a few other authors, artists, and scientists scattered around the island doing the same thing. I never feel it, but they all swear that their creativity increases ten fold when the Muses are here."

"Have you seen them?" I ask.

"Never," she sighs, "but Marc says a friend of his ran into all nine of them at once a couple of years ago at a New Years party. That trip resulted in our friend's most popular book. Apparently the Muses only grant such an audience once or twice a year, if ever. There are creative people all around here that would sell their grandmothers for such an audience."

"I'm not that intense," I assure her. "I'll just be happy to feel some serious inspiration."

"I hope you find it," she smiles gently at me. "Let me show you to your room."

The room has it's own small covered deck with a view of the jungle that separates us from their neighbors, but you can see the lagoon off to the right. It looks like a great place for writing, especially with the soft breeze blowing off the lagoon.

The sunset is as spectacular as advertised.

-------<December 30, 2023>------

Up early the next morning, I go for another walk on the beach and an early morning swim. Marc is still right where he's been since yesterday afternoon, pounding away on his keyboard.

Still not feeling inspired, I borrow snorkeling equipment and spend a couple of hours exploring the shallow lagoon. There are plenty of colorful fish and I even came across a giant clam. What I didn't come across was inspiration for a story to enter BigCloset's New Year's Resolution Contest.

I spend the warmer middle part of the day in the shade of my deck with my computer open before me. I tried starting on several ideas but nothing sticks. I look across the lagoon at the resort that appears to be lifeless.

In the evening, Marc is still totally immersed in his writing.

"How's it going?" Sally asks, "Any great ideas yet?"

"I am starting to think that I have been sold a bill of goods," I grump. "I don't feel even a breath of inspiration. All I want to do is write a simple short story to start things off, and none of my ideas are gaining traction."

"Why don't you take the paddleboard out in the morning?" she suggests with a twinkle in her eye. "Maybe you can meet up with the Muses if you go over close to the resort. I'm not convinced that they are there, but you never know."

-------<December 31, 2023, early morning>------

I was up early enough to watch a brilliant sunrise reflecting off of huge tropical clouds and the surface of the lagoon from a paddle board. It is one of the most beautiful scenes that I have ever seen. Too bad I'm not a painter or photographer.

I am just hanging out about half way between my friend's bungalow and the resort as the morning colors start to fade when another paddle board detaches itself from the resort, paddled by an incredibly fit young woman in a bikini. Eventually, she finds her way to where I am and calls a greeting.

"Enjoying the view?" She smiles at me. She has the olive skin tones that would suggest Mediterranean descent.

How do I answer a question like that!

"The sunrise was amazing," I tactfully reply.

She just gives a delightful laugh. We spend another fifteen minutes getting to know each other. She tells me that she is known as Callie and that she is staying the week at the resort with some friends and family, escaping the cold of northern Europe where she apparently spends most of her time, but she informs me that she travels a lot. I let her know that I am retired and visiting a writer friend and his wife. I also tell her that I am an amateur writer looking for inspiration, without much success.

"Be patient and learn the basic skills of the craft," she suggests. "Once you know what you are doing, then you will be ready when the inspiration comes."

"So I hear," I sigh. "I am thinking of enrolling in some creative writing classes when I get home, but I still need ideas to work with."

"Why don't you join us for our New Year's party tonight?" She invites me. "Maybe we can help you brainstorm. We could use another guy at the party."

"Can I bring my host?" I ask knowing that they would love to come.

"Sorry," she looks apologetic, "We can only accommodate a few extras. I like you and think that you would make a good addition to the group. You could paddle over around 10p and we'll make sure that you get home. Dress casual. Shorts and a T-shirt are fine."

"Okay," I agree, "Thank you. I'll be over at 10p. It is great to meet you Callie."

-------<December 31, 2023, late evening>------

It is almost 10p as I approach the resort with a lantern on the deck of my paddleboard announcing my approach.

"Tiff," Callie's voice calls to me from the beach. "Over here!"

Did she just call me Tiff? I never told her my pen name. As a matter of fact, I've never publicly made the connection between myself and my alter ego.

She is attractively attired in shorts and tank top and wades out into the water barefoot to help me beach the board.

Callie escorts me up the beach to a large deck outside the main building of the resort. There a number of people already here. From what I can tell, I am the last guest to arrive.

As we step up the deck, Callie claps her hands to get everyone's attention. "Our last guest has arrived!", she happily announces, "Everyone meeting Tiff. He is an amateur writer who really likes TG fiction."

Over the next hour, we circulate as I am introduced to her eight sisters. That's right, there are nine of them, all with greek names. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that these nine sisters are all named after the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne. Each young woman has a guest that they invited to the party. It is a very interesting guest list. There is a young woman who has been making a name for herself writing some amazing histories. There are also a couple of musicians, one young man who is just starting to break into writing movie scores and a middle aged woman who did some amazing things early in her career but has since dropped out of sight. There are a couple of other writers, an actor, and a couple of scientists. After chatting for a while it is clear that all of the guests have hit a creative brick wall in their respective fields.

Around 11:30p, a very distinguished older couple joins us. 

"Greetings," the gentleman gets our attention. "It is good of you to join us for the start of the New Year. Each year we invite creative people facing challenges to join us. Our daughters' mission is to provide inspiration to help people like you overcome your creative roadblocks. Each of you have the raw talent to be exceptionally creative, you are mainly lacking inspiration. The girls can help you find that inspiration. What they can't do is give you the skills to leverage that inspiration. However, each of you have, or will obtain through your own hard work, the skills needed to make your inspiration a reality. Tonight, we will give you the inspiration to make good on your New Year's resolutions, so think hard on what your resolution will be."

"Enough dear," the woman address the man, "Let these people enjoy themselves."

After the speech, Callie (which turns out to be short for Calliope, Muse of epic poetry) takes me aside.

"Dad can get long winded," Callie laughs. "Mom is good to keep him from getting carried away."

"Tiff," she turns serious, "You have done fairly well with the inspiration that I have given you over the past few years. You've written some passable stories but you could use some more training in creative writing. I think that you need to sign up for some courses when you get home. You need good feedback and an opportunity to do some rewrites. That will give you the skills you need to become a better writer."

"Now about inspiration," she continues, "what you need is experience with what you write about. The best writers, like your friend Marc, draw on their experience to produce their best work. Inspiration most often springs from experience. You write about TG transformations but have never actually experienced a transformation. All you have is your imagination. You would be more successful as a writer if you could write from experience."

"Complete male to female transformations are just a dream anyway," I sigh. "No matter how much I wish for one."

"Well..." Callie says with a smile. "My Dad might be able to help. Being THE Greek god, he can make all sorts of things happen that are just dreams."

"Your Dad is Zeus?" I ask incredulously.

"The one and only," she says smugly.

"Here is the deal," she informs me. "If you are serious about writing about magical TG transformations, I will have Dad turn you into a woman. Then you will go back to college to learn better writing skills. Just think, you could really excel and meet your resolution to up your writing game. Are you in? You need to let me know now as it is almost midnight."

I don't have time to think about this. I hate it when I get a choose now or lose it forever offer.

-------<January 1, 2024, late morning>------

"Wake up," I hear Sally's voice with a smile in it, "Did our number one granddaughter stay out a bit too late last night?"

I groan and roll over away from the light streaming into my room, not fully cognizant of what Sally just said. What does get my attention, however, is the long blonde hair in my face and shifting masses on my chest.

Sally smacks me on my behind, "Up and at 'em Tiffany. I know you are on vacation, but I could use a little help around the house today and your grandfather wants to see the first draft of the short story for your freshman writing class before dark."

I squint at the clock and see that it is almost noon. I have to push hair out of my face to see it.

I am instantly awake, hearing a familiar voice whispering in my ear. "In a few weeks, you'll have more than enough experiences to write about. Your classes will help you pull it all together."

"I'll be helping you where I can, Tiff." Callie's voice fades quietly away. "Maybe I can inspire you to be a little more poetic."

I smile to myself. I know what to write now. I can hardly wait to open up my laptop.

I found my Muse!