An unborn song

An unborn story

Rolled through the streets by the wind’s inspiration

Rolled out again on its next exhalation

A new thing under the sun

A new thing never begun

A whisper no human heard

Perhaps to great for a word

A note

Or the stroke of a brush

I wonder what it meant

I wonder what it was

Perhaps it was too much

To touch

But I weep for its passing me by

Visit my poetry page for more.

Inspired – The man behind the lightbulb

Welcome, readers–Syawn, here, with a brilliant guest. Let’s all give a round of applause to my fellow character-muse, Lucianíel. Before we get started, Luc, let’s take a look at the blurb and cover for your newly released novel!


For a muse like Lucianíel, one story’s end is another’s beginning.

In the wake of his author’s sudden death, Luc takes ownership of her surviving creations—four fantastical characters with tales yet to be told—saving them from unwritten lives crumbling around them and giving them a second chance at a literary future.

Luc finds that chance in the unsuspecting mind of Annabelle Iole Gray, a quirky teen with her head in the clouds, nose in a book, and imagination ripe for a brilliant muse’s inspiration.

Or so he hopes.

Neither Luc nor Annabelle, however, realize all they’ve undertaken. Even with a to-write list including accounts of a shape-shifting cat creature, gentle knight-in-training, vigilante skater girl, and a mystery boy smothering in unspoken fear, the most remarkable saga created between author and muse just may turn out to be one stranger than fiction.

Their own.



I, Sy, have a few questions for my fellow fantastic fictional male lead. So glad you could join us today, Luc. Though as I hear it, that’s not too tough for you—is it true that you have the power to be in multiple places at once?

Even if I didn’t, it would yet be my pleasure to visit your author’s blog. You’ve done fine things with the platform, Syawn. But as it happens, yes, that is within my power. As a being of light, I can move with light’s speed; tens of thousands of miles per second. Zipping back and forth between a few spots of interest quickly enough that nothing’s had time to change since I left is, for me, as easy as it would be for you to pace around the room.

Quite the talent, that. I could certainly have used such a device in my own story—though I’m not sure I would have been willing to give up my material existence to acquire it. 

In your story-world, you’re a muse, the acting liaison between a writer and her stories. How different does it feel to be a character in a story of your own?

It’s a refreshing change, I must admit. Not to say that my work behind the scenes ever felt limiting or inadequate, or that I pined for the recognition proper characters are far more likely than a muse to receive. Still, as I judge my story to be as worthy of print as any, it is rewarding to have it told. And if I do say so myself, I make a remarkable character.

Having read your tale in its earliest stages, I would quite agree. (Indeed, if I recall, I was with my author in suggesting you play more of a role at certain points.)

Now you mention it, I believe you’re right; I could name one scene right off that may never have entered the book otherwise. My thanks to you and Tirzah for your own bit of muse-like inspiration!

It’s never mentioned in the pages of Inspired how such a remarkable being as yourself came to be… well, inspired, in the first place. Do you remember your origin?

That I do. Ideas beget ideas. When a creative mind imagines, it generates the matter of which muses are made. Over much time and many ideas, the matter accumulates into a being which can imagine for itself, at which time it can take any form it fancies. …or any form it suspects its creator will fancy. A muse does well to ensure his artist’s mind stays active, you see. One must look to the continuance of one’s species.

You have four strong characters under your wing—your children, as you call them. Are you the sort of “parent” to choose favorites? If so, which is your favorite?

I’m not above favoritism, no. Truth be told, one of my precious four is particularly dear to my heart. But in the interest of precluding any unfortunate sibling rivalry between them, I shall withhold the name as one of my necessary little secrets. Readers are, however, welcome to speculate.

That… that is enigmatic; that is textbook enigmatic. If you’ll not answer that question, then, will you at least step up to this next challenge? Describe each of your four children of the imagination, in single sentences—one sentence for each.

Now, there’s a request I can gladly oblige. Going in order of their introduction in “Inspired”, I’ll begin with Abishan. He’s a pampered pussy cat of a god who cares for nothing so much as his own comfort and those who contribute to it.

In contrast, Wilbur thinks of himself last of everyone, all the young man’s kindhearted attention devoted to those around him.

Uri, meanwhile, prefers to affect an air of utter apathy, partly to do with her being a teenager, but primarily as a defense against the pain and confusion that comes with trying to give a damn in a corrupted world.

And little Yves is as a wisp of flickering flame, dancing in a gale of adversity that shall either blow him out or fan him brighter, in the end.

If you could claim credit for any other fictional creation (not one in Annabelle’s universes, nor in Danielle’s), who would you wish you could call your own?

Hmm! An intriguing question to which I’ve not hitherto given much thought. If I could name but one (and at the risk of seeming to have been influenced by Danielle’s list of fictional favorites), I believe I would choose Sherlock Holmes.

Intelligent, complex, highly influential, and enduringly popular. He was so beloved in his day that his author couldn’t get away with keeping him killed off, and he is no less adored more than a century later. Such staying power is a rare and exquisite thing. How proud I would be to have him for a child! Though, I expect he would make for a better feather in my cap than he would a son. For all that I envy Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s muse his triumph, I would not trade my family.

A brilliant choice, one of which I’m sure Holmes, Doyle, and Doyle’s attendant genius would heartily approve. That said, your loyalty to your fictional family, even over and above such literary success, is extraordinarily admirable. I wish your book the best of luck—and who knows where it might sit in people’s hearts, come a century, eh? Only a hundred years will tell…

So true. I look forward to learning how my story stands time’s test. And that goes for your story as well, Syawn, when it at last goes out into the world. Until our next meeting, gracious host: Farewell.


Let us hope the man fares well indeed, himself. Inspired is available for purchase at Amazon in paperback and Kindle forms, Barnes and Noble for you Nook users, and on Kobo.

Character Clippings from the Ether

A sea of characters swirls in the ether, infinite shades of multifaceted beings, people that flit into an artist’s imagination, begging to have their tale told, or else draw tentatively nearer as they’re called…

So that’s my character-finding process. Sort of. Not really. Okay, maybe it’s significantly less magical. …Or is it? Just how supernatural is mere imagination? It is, at the very least, other-worldly; consider how many worlds can form within one. But I’m not talking about the formation of universes, only characters.

How do such mysterious things as imaginary people get their start inside my mind? How do these clippings from some mystical forest plant themselves, put down roots, grow into true, vibrant, leafy, fruit-producing characters? …Alright, I may have taken that metaphor an acre too far.

I would tell you how I go about creating/finding/being jumped by characters, but my process is even more varied than that triple-slash thing would indicate. For every fresh character, there is a fresh explanation, a fresh manner of birth. Some were born of inspiration, some of labor, some of real life, some of conglomerate, some of idle speculation… and some of other things yet.

Since it’s hardly possible to cover all such first sparks of existence in one small blog piece, I will give it to you a character at a time; my main cast (and some of my more interesting minor fellows) each stepping into the spotlight to show you how they entered my thoughts in the first place. Hopefully, you’ll find it inspiring.

It’ll be something like a mom pulling out the scrapbook of baby pictures for company, you know; “And this was Johnny’s first bath, wasn’t he a little peach?” Heh heh… my poor fictional cast will be blushing so bright I could read by them. First in line; the formation of Syawn. Watch for it.
“Will you talk about me in the bath?” he asks, brows raised in interest.
No, Sy.
“Cryin’ shame. Your readers would love it.”
Shut up, Sy.