There I am, brushing my teeth, winding down for the night, and suddenly… BOOM. The Muse shows up. Not with a gentle knock, but with a full-blown marching band of inspiration, complete with jazz hands and fully formed plot twists. Of course, it’s late. Of course, I’m half asleep. And of course, when I wake up in the morning? Poof. Gone. Like a dream you swore you’d remember, but now you’re standing in the kitchen yelling “Nooo!” at your coffee because all that’s left is a ghost of an idea and maybe a few jumbled words like “mirror sword” or “cat uprising.”

I’ve tried dictating into my phone. Once, I actually managed to get an idea down that way, only for a system update to sweep in and delete it into the digital abyss. Thanks, technology. Not to mention, I feel absolutely ridiculous whispering fantasy dialogue to my phone like some sort of bedtime bard, and my poor husband really doesn’t appreciate being woken up by my late night monologues.

Back in my commuting days, the muse would hijack my brain while I was stuck in traffic or squished between strangers on the bus. At least then I could jot things down into the notes app, one-handed, with a bagel in the other. These days, working from home means I can keep my laptop open and toss ideas into a doc as they hit. But I definitely don’t do it in front of company. I do have some dignity left, thank you very much.

The absolute worst is when I’m watching something brilliant, like a movie or a play, and my story brain lights up while I sit there unable to take notes. I sit there, vibrating with potential, praying I’ll remember it later. (Spoiler: I usually don’t.)

Before smartphones, I was part of the huge-purse crew and always had a notepad and pen with me. I’ve scribbled ideas on the backs of receipts, on envelopes, once even on a clean-ish napkin during lunch. Desperate times. Inspired minds.

And yes, I try to forgive myself when the idea slips through my fingers. It’s hard. I have to believe it’ll come back. Maybe stronger. Maybe clearer. Maybe not at 2AM this time. The more I chase it, the faster it vanishes, like when you’re trying to remember a word that’s just out of reach. So instead, I try to let it go. And trust that if it mattered, it’ll find me again.

Honestly, the Muse is a lot like a skittish puppy. One second she’s climbing all over you with chaotic excitement, the next she’s under the couch refusing to come out. Patience, snacks, and the occasional sacrifice of a quiet evening are usually the best ways to coax her back.

So if you’re out there muttering plot lines into your shampoo bottle or scribbling dialogue on old receipts, you’re not alone. Welcome to the club. We meet at 3AM. Snacks are optional but strongly encouraged.