Even as an author - You Can’t Sit There All Day – The Muse Needs Her Agility Time

I know what the experts say. “Writers write.” “Butt in chair, fingers on keys.” “Power through the block!”
Sure. Okay. I hear you.

But after approximately six hours in the same chair, surviving on coffee, creative fumes, and the misguided hope that the next scene will magically write itself, I start to feel like Gollum from Lord of the Rings. Only less shiny.

That’s when Blueberry enters the picture.

Blueberry is my Papillon dog, my muse, and arguably the real boss of this household. She has the self-confidence of a rockstar on a reunion tour. When Blueberry decides it's time for agility practice, she does not negotiate. There are no polite suggestions. There is barking. There is trotting in place. There is staring. And there is absolutely no chance I’m going to get away with, “Five more minutes, sweetie.”

I’ve learned that when Blueberry wants to move, I’d better move with her.

So we go outside. We run, we leap, we weave through poles, sprint through tunnels, and sometimes I trip over my own feet while she executes a perfect jump with the grace of a ballerina. I swear she gives me a look when I fumble. She's part cheerleader, part judge from a doggy version of So You Think You Can Dance.

But here’s the beautiful truth: when we’re out there, playing and training, I feel more human. I remember that writing isn’t just about living in my head—it’s about living in the world. Laughing. Bonding. Getting fresh air in my lungs and humility in my soul (thank you, Blueberry, for reminding me I am not in charge).

And the magic? Oh, the magic comes back. After we’ve had our agility time, she’s tuckered out, snuggled up with her paws over her eyes in a sunbeam, and I sit down—heart pumping, cheeks flushed, slightly less caffeinated—and the ideas flow. It’s like the cobwebs got shaken out, the gears oiled, the muse (Blueberry) appeased.

Yes, she’s a diva. She insists on treats delivered with the proper fanfare. She absolutely has a preferred side for photos. And don’t even think about using the cheap dog shampoo—she will sulk dramatically. But she’s also my daily reminder that writing is not meant to be a punishment. It’s supposed to be a joy. A dance. A chase through a tunnel, toward the story waiting on the other side.

So if you’re ever stuck, whether you’re a writer or just someone spinning in circles at your desk, take it from Blueberry and me: get up. Move. Laugh. Do something ridiculous. Humble yourself by racing a five-pound Papillon who thinks you are the sidekick in her story.

And then? Sit back down. You’ve got work to do. (But only once the diva approves.)

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