A Letter From Caissa

(my muse)

Hello, Mathew.

You didn't know I would call you 'Mathew', did you? Of course not, because I'm the one who came up with the idea. But like all my ideas, you immediately liked it as soon as it arrived. Why? Because I'm the one who gave it to you. Yet it seems right, in the way that a good story idea fits solidly into your web.

I'm giving up a good game of chess in the meadow to write this to you. Seeing as how my name is based off the goddess of chess, you should be doubly grateful. Usually I'm much more ephemeral, striking hard and swift with power and beauty and then vanishing before you can guess its source, like a sneak attack of description, or if ninjas ambushed you with plot points. But, as awesome as my home in your soul's meadow is, where I can wear my hair long and wear shades of green with a dark base, sometimes I want to do something new. That is, after all, part of my job description.
Hence, this letter.

I was inspired by Martin's letter from his demons. Great stuff, particularly the changeover uses of 'we' and 'I' as different demons were discussed. Riotous. I wish I could do something the same, but unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), being your muse is a one-girl only proposition. Your idea for Seya battling the Dragon at the Gate? Me. Your idea to make that the end of the second book, to embark on a journey it may take the rest of your life to walk? Me. Your Dragontamers, your magic spells, your characters loves and betrayals: me, me, me. Of course, I'm also responsible for your desire to kill at least half your main characters and your apparent penchant for rape, and I'm fine with that. I take the credit and the blame, and am fine putting my skills up against any others that dare come to my meadow. Not that I expect anyone to. It's not as if Dan in your brain running the IT sector could conceive of something like shadowlight.

I guess I'm doing all right. A 6.37 on a scale of 1-10. It has, of course, been better than that. Part of me wants to remind you of the way we had it once. Remember the writing nights we used to have? The all-night sessions where you and I would build together, seamlessly moving back and forth and achieving higher and higher lofts of description and character and plot until I stripped naked, baring everything I had for you - nothing is hotter than a strong plot point that fills a gaping hole - and you poured red wine over my writhing body as we consummated yet another chapter, burning holes through the paper with words we wrote with fire?
...Whew. Sorry. Good memories.
I do understand the need to balance the work, the friends, the life, with me. A girl's got to eat, after all. So I don't mind as much when I'm not needed for some days, and I can rest on the grass or work out in the tree, maybe idly amusing myself with a game of chess or turn of phrase I will save for later. And when we do get together, I understand if it can't always be for a lot of time, that staying up all night is an invitation to disaster, and that sometimes you just don't think of it.

But I'm writing you to remind you that what we can do is special. You love it, I know you do - I'm in charge of one of the best parts of you, matched only by Pandora's romance and (maybe) Thix's bubbling strangeness. And I've worked with both. Thix has sometimes given me some of my best ideas (even inadvertently), and Pandora and I have been good friends since the early days. We've connected on multiple levels. We helped create Seya-Talin and Sitiani-Cain. We even bake pies on Thursdays. Pandora and Thix both know you love creating. I certainly do - it is everything I am, everything that is me, the reason I exist. I know you like that. Let's create.

Sure, sometimes I feel bad that my talents don't go across other areas. There are so many mediums for me, and I seem to have only had talent in one. I helped give you that song you always hum to yourself every few weeks, and why you enjoy singing or whistling wordlessly, just to try out a new set of notes. I'm why you scribble in meetings at work, trying in vain to make an even discernible picture of a scene in TFOR. I'm sorry that I have no musical talent, nor drawing, nor acting or filming or anything else of the sort.

But I can write.

If that is all I possess, then I will write with every ounce of me, create events and people and worlds through your writing that leap into existence, letters flashing with their power. Not that it will be easy, or quick. But I promise you, if you give me the time, I will lay my life down on this grass of your soul to make your dream come true - that one day, you will write a fantasy series that will give someone the same joy and amazement at another world and events that you felt reading your first fantasy books. I can do it. I can create. I can help.
All it takes is desire... and time.

Bill in accounting makes offhand comments at group luncheons sometimes about the decreasing amount of hours he can divy out, and Sefro has only been happy lately because you've joined a third sport. It won't be easy, necessarily. Even Pandora is a little sad that you have no steady flame to stand by.

But they will be there still, and I'm not asking you to ignore them. Simply remember that I will provide you something the worth of which goes far beyond good work or good exercise.

I will help you do something that you will be proud of your entire life.

So...
Spend a little more time in my meadow? I have chocolate, remember. (Pandora told me to say that, but I could have guessed anyway.) I hope to see you there.

'Til then.

- Caissa