I’m taking over the blog today. Why? Because Shannon’s a boring, whiny bitch today, and I want to list the thirteen reasons I’d rather be Nora’s muse. What? Oh, who am I? I’m Shannon’s muse, unfortunately. And since she often says “Okay, Ezmerelda, let’s do this thing,” when she sits down to write, I think that might be my name. Either that or it’s some secret name she calls herself, in which case she’s worse off than I thought. She refused to get me the “official” code because she’s still kinda sick and she doesn’t really have the energy for TT, so here’s my unofficial hijacked Thursday Thirteen:
Thirteen reasons I’d rather be Nora’s muse than Shannon’s:
1. Nora has a quiet third-floor office. Shannon’s “den” is on the first floor and is only quiet from 11pm to 5:30am. When she’s sleeping.
2. I bet Nora has way better shoes.
3. If I was Nora’s muse, I’d get to see my books at Walmart instead of just comparing the unit prices of toilet paper.
4. You know, I bet Nora never even looks at the unit prices of toilet paper.
5. I’d get to dream up Roarke’s sex scenes.
6. I’d get to dream up even more of Roarke’s sex scenes. (Okay, I’d probably have to involve that cop Whatsername occasionally.)
7. I saw the picture of Nora on Shannon’s copy—hardcover copy, I might add—of Born in Death and I totally deserve to be with a writer who has a leather coat that awesome. The blue fleece zip-up jobby Shannon’s wearing today was a disgrace even before she dribbled coffee all down the front.
8. I could get sweatshirts with that cool NR logo on them.
9. I could get Nora to write some more of those luscious Irishmen. Shannon doesn’t know jack about Ireland. (Irony, ain’t it sweet?)
10. Nora only works on one story at a time, so I wouldn’t have to suffer from creative whiplash anymore. (I know Shannon told you I’m the schitzophrenic one, but I live with her and I can swear to the fact that all of her are full of crap.)
11. Nora’s husband owns a bookstore. Shannon’s is an electrician. Books? Woot! 30-amp disconnects? Snore.
Shannon: Try reading in the dark, Ezmerelda. And Nora doesn’t believe in muses, anyway. And what if she doesn’t like Dunkin Donuts iced coffees? What if they don’t even have a Dunkin Donuts?
Ignore her. She’s not well.
12. If I was Nora’s muse, they’d make my work into movies. As Shannon’s muse my only brush with television is having to work to the incessantly annoying soundtrack of Nick Jr.
13. Did I mention being Roarke’s sexual puppetmaster?
Comment
Note to self: Keep my Muse away from Shannon’s. If they meet and have baby Muses (mine’s a he) together, we’re doomed.
Get better soon!
Comment
May! Mine’s a he, too! :groucho:
Comment
So…does that make me a muse-lesbian?
:eyebrow:
Comment
Geez, I don’t even think I know my muse. I just know he/she comes around when the kids aren’t bugging me every five minutes and then tells me to “hurry up already” or “they’re coming, they’re coming, type!!” :doh:
Comment
Fight, fight! :popcorn: I bet you could get back on your muse’s good side by writing something set in Ireland. Just saying.
Comment
ROFLMAO! Thank goodness I’m not the only one that has these conversations!!! :coffee:
Comment
:lmao:
But hey. At least your muse talks to you.
Or bitches at you, whatever.
But take heart, Ezzie — Nora may not worry her pretty little head about the unit price of TP, but I sincerely doubt she sits around and writes in that snazzy leather coat, either.
She probably even dribbles coffee over herself, now and again. :eyebrow:
Comment
I do NOT dribble coffee all over myself. I dribble Diet Pepsi–in a ladylike manner.
Take heart, Shannon. For years I wrote in a converted den the size of a stingy closet. Then I married a carpenter (Who would become a bookstore owner), and he BUILT me an office.
But I do have fabulous shoes.
They CHARGE for toilet paper? The things you learn.
Comment
Nora! :hug: Diet Pepsi’s all around!
So I’m left with the burning question—how on earth did you get your carpenter to swing a hammer at home? Lucky woman. My electrician and I have lived in this house for twelve years and I still have outlets from the dawn of electricity that refuse to keep the plug in for more than two sweeps with the vacuum. (We don’t talk about the tangle of powerstrips under the desk.) A plumber’s plumbing is never plumbed and all that.
And if that was my coat, I’d wear it to write. (Probably with a bib over it, though.)
Comment
Shan, you’re a bitch. You got Nora to come and comment.
I wonder if I throw up and turn over my blog to my muse if Nora will come visit me
:devil:
Comment
My guy actually loves to build–to tear out, fix up, design and so on. He can do plumbing and wiring. I fell deep into luck–I mean love–okay both.
I’d wear the coat while I worked, but it won’t fit over my bathrobe.
Comment
Shannon – I completely understand, I’m married to a plumber. He only does new installations but still you’d think that when we reno’d our bathroom he could put the new toilet in. It sat in our bedroom for six months until I threatened to put it in myself. I don’t care if it’s brand new, a toilet sitting in your bedroom is just a little weird. :rofl:
Comment
There was nearly a tragic coffee/keyboard incident over that bathrobe/coat comment. :rofl:
Comment
:rofl: