A long time ago I invited the writing muse to come visit me. "Not right now, mind you," I said. "Later, when I'm ready." It was an open invitation. A sincere one. "I'd love to write now," I said. "If only I had the time."

I spent years volunteering at the school, decorating my house, and keeping up with the kids. I moved the family cross country, worked part time with a jewelry designer, and lots of other things I thought were standing in the way of writing. I just needed to get all of that done first. I wanted it to be perfect when she arrived.

A few years later I opened the door to find her standing there. She had a warm smile for me, that muse of mine. I wanted her to come; I'd invited her. But when she did, I wasn't prepared. I got that nervous, cringing feeling you get when someone stops by unannounced. You're glad to see them, but the house is a mess. You stand there hoping they'll make it quick, even though you really want them to stay.

"I should have cleaned the bathroom this morning," I thought. And finished the laundry. And gotten the painters hired. Then I would be able to sit and relax and enjoy her company. If things were all neat and tidy I could invite this lovely person to sit and I would offer her a cup of tea. "I'm not ready," I said sadly. "I don't have time right now." I sent her away with a heavy heart.

"I'll be back," she said with a smile.

I know she dropped by a few times when I was out, leaving me nice notes. I was off doing all of the things I was supposed to, getting everything done so when it was time I could give her my full attention. Luckily she was very patient.

I was determined to get my "to do" list finished so I would have time to write. My house was organized and my landscape weed-free. But every time I caught up I realized there were more items waiting for me on the back of that list. It never ended.

I thought about my writing muse most when life was busy. I had a lot on my mind and I needed somebody to talk to. She seemed so good, so caring. Couldn't I make a little time for her? Maybe I could just invite her for short visits, I thought. Once I decided, she came right back.

When I relaxed and asked her to come in she was a perfect guest. We spent time together and it felt wonderful. Our visits became more regular. I looked forward to them. I made time for them. When she left I felt relaxed and happy, better able to tackle the busy world I live in. She encouraged me to take some classes. She introduced me to new friends. Time spent with her made me sleep better at night.

She didn't mind the dirty bathroom; she came and chatted with me while I cleaned it up. She pitched me story ideas while I folded the laundry. And she helped me think of good titles while I mopped the floor. She was so wonderful in fact that I asked her to move in. We share my office now. Luckily she's tidy like me. We are going think of some ideas for my next story while we do the dishes, then we'll sit and have a cup of tea.

Windy Lynn Harris writes essays and short stories from her home in Phoenix, Arizona. Her work has been seen recently in Raising Arizona Kids, The Cynic, and Quiet Mountain Essays, among others. She is currently finishing her first novel.

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