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-flavored gummies that I have stashed in a bag on my closet shelf. Then again, if I get her buzzed, who the hell knows what might erupt. Probably another story like this one:</p><div id="0bd0" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/12-things-i-learned-from-my-vagina-977de8e5abdd"> <div> <div> <h2>12 Things I Learned From My Vagina</h2> <div><h3>Because sharing is caring</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*CklwAyM8VDeMmsoRezClMg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="964f">Given that, in ancient times the muse was known as the Goddess of Memory, perhaps a dose of the new cognitive-boosting supplements known as Nootropics, would help provide the inspiration I seek in order to be my most fabulous self, on the page, anyway. Yet, if memory serves correctly, my muse has a very sensitive metabolism and has been known to hurl after ingesting substances that are foreign to her. In fact, she has informed me on several occasions that popping pills isn’t her style. “Self-soothing” with Cabernet, on the other hand, is.</p><p id="5a91"><i>Frankly, she’s a pain in the ass.</i></p><p id="834c">What if I was to locate a hunky <i>male muse </i>for my muse to hook up with? Admittedly, I <i>have</i> gotten sick of listening to her bitch about the lack of pulchritude amongst the Gods she evolved with. Says they have “teenie weenies.” Maybe she’s right. What the hell do I know?</p><p id="fc9f">You know, I think that’s a plan. Are there any guys here who would be willing to give me a hand? Ideally, if you could let me use your muse for my muse’s amusement for at least a couple of days, that would be grand. We could discuss compensation if necessary but I’m not sure that’s Kosher. With that said, I’m willing to discuss.</p><p id="ea15">Now, I have to think of something with which to occupy myself while I wait for the offers to roll in.</p><p id="12ae">Maybe I’ll whip up a bundt cake. Or, a lather. Interpret that as you will.</p><p id="2cfc"><i>© Sherry McGuinn, 2021. All Rights Reserved.</i></p><p id="a8bb"><i>Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.</i></p><figure id="1e05"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/0*QrE6IhcL44ZGShrZ"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><p id="9076">Thanks for reading, guys. If you enjoyed this, I’d love for you to

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Dear Muse

Where the F are you?

Muse, if you should see this, get your ass back here pronto because I’m in a mood and when that happens…stand back honey, because Mama’s gonna blow.

I’ve been sitting here on my ass for at least an hour now, scrolling through my Medium stats, checking out stories, and also, hoping like hell that I’ll think of something to share with you all.

Now, I made about 75 bucks last month and am eagerly awaiting its showing up in my bank account. What an achievement! What validation! I AM a writer!

Shit. Maybe my lack of success here is getting to me. Nibbling away at my confidence and eroding my sense of self. Could that be why my muse is MIA?

Granted, she is a capricious little twat and I’ve had to give her “what for” in the past but she’s never taken off for parts unknown for an extended length of time. But now, something is different. I feel…empty, somehow. Vacated.

Have I treated her improperly? Not given her enough love? Not stoked her selfish, overblown ego? I guess she’s forgotten that she wouldn’t be she, without me.

If my muse decides to bounce for good, this doesn’t bode well for my future writings. I mean, I could inadvertently start sharing “tips” with you, like “6 Ways to Tell Off that Asshole of an IT Guy.”

Nah. That’s not me and I’d probably run out of advice posthaste. Let’s see…I could talk about the fact that on News Break, with its new monetization in place (aka, “fuck the writers”), my stories are now getting “scored” which only means that my days of making a grand a month are over. But, hey, I can’t complain as at least I made the three-month cutoff. Three thousand bucks are nothing to sneer at when you’re used to earning bubkis on platforms like this one.

Speaking of Medium, I have to admit that I was pleasantly surprised to learn that “curation” is now being referred to as “selected for further distribution.” And guess what? Some of my stories actually were selected! Although I’m not going to get too excited as I feel it’s long overdue and slavish gratitude isn’t my thing.

Also, unless my muse makes it back to me, the only thing I’m going to be “selected” for is obscurity. So what should I do to entice her to return?

Perhaps a foot rub would be appealing. Eh…I don’t know. I’m not into feet. They’re like another set of hands, but weirder. Do muses even have feet?

Maybe my muse would prefer something edible, like a few of the lime-flavored gummies that I have stashed in a bag on my closet shelf. Then again, if I get her buzzed, who the hell knows what might erupt. Probably another story like this one:

12 Things I Learned From My Vagina

Because sharing is caring

medium.com

Given that, in ancient times the muse was known as the Goddess of Memory, perhaps a dose of the new cognitive-boosting supplements known as Nootropics, would help provide the inspiration I seek in order to be my most fabulous self, on the page, anyway. Yet, if memory serves correctly, my muse has a very sensitive metabolism and has been known to hurl after ingesting substances that are foreign to her. In fact, she has informed me on several occasions that popping pills isn’t her style. “Self-soothing” with Cabernet, on the other hand, is.

Frankly, she’s a pain in the ass.

What if I was to locate a hunky male muse for my muse to hook up with? Admittedly, I have gotten sick of listening to her bitch about the lack of pulchritude amongst the Gods she evolved with. Says they have “teenie weenies.” Maybe she’s right. What the hell do I know?

You know, I think that’s a plan. Are there any guys here who would be willing to give me a hand? Ideally, if you could let me use your muse for my muse’s amusement for at least a couple of days, that would be grand. We could discuss compensation if necessary but I’m not sure that’s Kosher. With that said, I’m willing to discuss.

Now, I have to think of something with which to occupy myself while I wait for the offers to roll in.

Maybe I’ll whip up a bundt cake. Or, a lather. Interpret that as you will.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

Thanks for reading, guys. If you enjoyed this, I’d love for you to check out the following, as well as my newsletter, Sherry Raw.