Occasionally I know where an idea for a story or a blog post comes from. It’s usually because I’ve done something epically stupid, and after a period of recovery, I can make fun of myself.

But for the more “Oh, Wow!” ideas… I don’t know.

But, yet, I do.

It’s Her.

She frequently shows up in the blog posts. In my house, terrorizing cats. In my head when I'm supposed to be working. Stomping on my pillow when I so desperately need sleep.

Meet Little Miss.

The glory-stealing author muse who insists she’s been with me since before I was two cells old. I only had eyes keen enough to see her in the last few years.

Little Miss Muse believes she's the reason for anything brilliant that might accidentally fall out of my fingertips and onto the keyboard.

She’s a chonky purple imp with glittery wings, a tutu, and a huge ego. She loves high heels, stilettos, and grape-flavored anything.

Someone told me that must have been the same stuff I liked when I was a kid.

Little Miss must be Little Beth.


My favorite color as a little girl was hot pink, I never had a tutu (though I did have a square-dancing dress my aunt gave me that twirled all the way out), and I despise grape-flavored anything.

But Little Miss, all bottle rockets and lighter fluid?

She’s been kicked out of writer conferences, public pools,
and more than one church service—and that’s just since I’ve known her.

I’ve only been kicked out of one building in my entire
life—that’s a story for another time. (And it certainly wasn’t because I was streaking, waving my purple tutu over my head in the shark tank swimming pool
at the Golden Nugget in Las Vegas.)

But I’ll put up with her antics because, well, Little Miss Muse and I are a bonded pair at this point.


I keep her stocked up with the lavender glitter and lighter fluid, and she keeps the idea faucet flowing...