The Imaginary Friend

First: you guys are getting a Daily Prompt simply because I still have to do a quick sketch of how my NaNoWriMo is going to play out. You should probably anticipate a few more prompts than usual over November.

Anyway. The latest offering is about an imaginary friend. I don’t remember ever having one as a child, preferring to not live in my imagination – I think the closest I came to it was imagining being friends with characters in books.

Just look how well that has worked out.

These days, I think I do technically have an imaginary friend. I’m sure I’m not the only writer to refer to a muse, some mysterious creature who drops by on occasion and says “hey, here is an excellent idea. write it.”

(Of course, the muse then disappears without saying anything of use)

My muse showed up at the (imaginary) door not that many years ago. She does not seem to have a name, but I imagine her to be some wonderful immortal creature who lives a surreal life.

Did you ever watch The Great Gatsby, and wonder at the lives of these people – beautiful and wealthy and either entirely apathetic, or feeling too much? And they’re whimsical, they say all the right things for the situation even as you think they’re not sincere within it?

It’s kind of like that, like how I felt when watching it and Gatsby was throwing some incredible party – to me, unfathomable – the muse is this unfathomable sort of creature.

She’s every sort of person, the lovelorn and the snooty and the admiring and the admired. I like to think she’s the kind who reads philosophy just to quote it in some drifty dreamy way, discusses her life with utter frankness and lives among splendour for the sheer hell of it.

If she has in fact stayed alongside me since I began writing more seriously, then she’s seen me get my degree and maybe she’s got one of her own.

I think she’s living some fabulous life.

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