“Beautiful, intelligent, inspiring,” his tone aprasing. “But I’m just standing here?” And I was just standing here just as he asked. “So” he spoke as if I was saying the most idiotic thing in the world. “You stand there, yes,” he continued “but the look in your eyes the hope and fear and raging intensity of both extremes, you stand there, but you stand with the confidence of a thousand soliders.” ...

When the reporter asked me what inspired me to write my first number one single I thought back to the night when I realized I liked you and the time we spent together from that night forward. All of these memories came flooding into my mind like a dam had just burst. I thought about the first time we kissed, the first time we said I love you and the last time we ever spoke. Some of my favorite mem...

Do you love me

The muse asks the artist

To which they respond

With a simple yes

The muse seems displeased

With the lack of words uttered

And seems to beg for more

Which frustrates the artist

They set down their brush

And look into the muses eyes

Do you love me

They ask back

The muse looks down to the floor

Unable to answer

When words finally apear

To the lips of the muse

They are not what you w...

“I’m the artist, and you’re my muse,” said John serenely, as if it meant something.

“C’mon, man.” I sighed, slamming my eyes shut for a moment. “You’ve said that to thousands of girls.”

“But I mean it!” He looked over at me, his eyes warming. “I love you, Alice.”

I shook my head. “You‘ve loved every chick who’s dropped acid with you. You’ve loved every hooker who you’ve overpaid. You’ve loved e...

She stood behind a rather large canvas with paint splattered all over her clothes. It was peculiar, honestly. She got more paint on her clothes than on the canvas. I wondered how the painting would turn out. I suppose I didn’t necessarily care, my mother had demanded I get the painting done. The painter happened to be a young girl, around eleven. When I first saw her my mother simply said ‘There i...

“Stand here, Alina, and raise your chin slightly higher. You need to portray strength and elegance for this sculpture,” said Orion, the most well-respected sculptor in the city. “You will be a sight for everyone to see.” Orion began sketching Alina’s silhouette for the sculptor that he would place in the epicenter of the city.

As she got into position not able to lift her head high and rolling h...

He reeks of orthodox tobacco incense, cigars and golden grain—

His eyes steel, Everclear and

iron,

a shade of withering grass—

The man’s brim curves well his swine nose

And leans to the steel cut boots he wears like prayers, scuffed

By cattle hooves and shards of copper

Honey says he’s fine,

Like fine, mulberry wine—

I say he’s mash, charred over-well in a calling carhood;

And then they out ...

(based off of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s adaptation of “The Phantom of the Opera”, written in the style of a stageplay)

**Scene**: Christine’s dressing room at the Opera Populaire. France, 1876. 

_Christine and Meg enter Christine’s dressing room, out of breath from rehearsal. Christine sits in the chair in front of her vanity, Meg walking across the room to sit on the edge of Christine’s bed to tak...

Writing Prompt: May 23 - "Create a dialogue scene between an artist and their muse."

Muse, let me tell a fantastical story. Gift me with the words and rhythms to weave the tapestry of this tale.

Muse, let me tell a story of peoples. Gift me with knowledge to untwist the paths of all intertwined through time.

Muse, let me pour my heart into gifts of verse and chorus. Gift me with confidence to ...

Silence.

The only sound was the gentle scratch of pen on paper. The room was dim, lit only by a flickering oil lamp casting its feeble glow over the two young people.

"Are you finished soon?" she sighed, impatience curling in her voice.

"Not quite yet, love," he murmured, eyes still fixed on his drawing.

"Stan?"

No reply.

"Stan, you should really hurry up. I have other things to do."

"Oh, Jes...