Some writers talk about their muse, like they have only one. I have an entire family of muses; some of them I know REALLY well, and some of them I'm still meeting and learning about. (It's almost like marrying into a family and learning about your in-laws over the course of time.) My muses ACT like a family: they love and respect one another, but they also know how to tear each other apart (but no one else better try to tear them down...). Each one has a distinct personality, distinct quirks, and distinct ways of reacting to my life.
My babbling muse, however, tends to take over and won't EVER shut up, more than thrilled that the poet has left the main stage for a bit. Apparently the babbling muse is a 7-year-old child (probably more female than male, judging by the babbling, but you've met my son, right?). She will ramble on and on about anything and everything in the hopes that somewhere along the line, something profound and meaningful will eventually emerge. (Guess which muse is working right now!)
My philosophical muse is somewhere around 40 years old and refuses to tell me how old he really is. He says that age is unimportant and gets annoyed if and when I even try to figure it out. He's far more interested in the "more important" parts of life: the how and why of everything, understanding people, politics, religion, and any other nebulous idea. He listens intently to the babbler, always scribbling down something in his notebook for further contemplation.
My erotic muse (which I'm convinced every writer has hidden inside, but many choose to keep locked away) is an exotic seductress. She spends most of her time dreaming up fantastical adventures that could probably never happen in real life. She's quite fond of teasing the rest of the family, throwing all sorts of crazy ideas into their projects, just to see what they will do with them. No one is sure how old she is either (and everyone knows better than to ask a woman her age). I wouldn't even begin to guess with her; she can be rather vindictive and I don't know that I'd like her when she's angry.
My lyrical muse is a twin to the poet. I'm only starting to get to know him, but he likes to take the ideas of the philosopher and mix them with the babbling and the hopeless dreaming of the poet and turn them into something that brings honor to them all. He's the most level headed of the bunch and can generally put even the erotic in her place and make her behave... sometimes.
My storyteller muse is the grandfather/mother of the family. (S)He has seen it all and knows all. I think (s)he is the spry-est 93 year old I've ever met. And (s)he LOVES to talk, oversee the family, make sure they all do what they're supposed to, and then bring them all together for holiday dinners or a family picnic from time to time. (S)He is the glue that holds them all together, reminds them that they need one another, and generally loves and encourages them when they fall.
They influence one another, assisting each other with their daily tasks and "household maintenance" (where the house is my mind, of course). They have long conversations and arguments all the time which drive me to set up semi-permanent residence in the land of insanity (maybe I'm just living in the suburbs?).
There are others who live here. I know I haven't met them all, but as I meet them, I'll share.
