Writers and artists know that when the muse visits there’s not much you can do but follow her.

Or him.

I know the famous offspring of Zeus and Mnemosyne are women – Calliope, Clio, Euterpe, Terpsichore, Erato, Melpomene, Thalia, Polyhymnia and Urania, for those who like to polish up their knowledge of Greek mythology – but my muse is a man. Not sure how that happened but it might be the reason why I so often write from a male perspective, why my protagonists are mostly men or boys.

Male or female, when the call of the muse comes the writer has no other option than to obey. Or fail his project.


Last night my muse’s call came at 3:00 am (or maybe it was jet lag calling, or the story tout court, the jury’s still out on that one). Not the best timing and when at home I usually ignore such untimely calls – it’s a delicate balance keeping both your muse and your beloved Maecenas appeased and at home the muse is the one who usually bites the dust.

But here I answer the call. Wholeheartedly. I have my notebook and pen ready on the nightstand and all I have to do is switch on the light and write.


It was worth every minute. My muse fed me amazing stuff. I scribbled page after page full of notes and ideas, some of which I will incorporate in the manuscript today.



My current project’s notebook