Lying, cheating, no good louses

I think Swampy, my contrary muse, is seeing other writers. How could he?

Sure we've had a few disagreements over the years (he's incredible arrogant and stubborn), but we're a team--me, Swampy and the domme with the flogger that claims she's my internal editor, just another thrill seeking sadist if you ask me, but I digress.

I count on Swampy to raise his massive head from the depths whenever I need him with the perfect plot twist, the hidden motivation, and most of all the clever resolution to characters hanging from a cliff edge that I tend to write.

When I first read a familiar phrase in another author's book, I brushed it aside with a breezy great minds and all that jazz. The second time I found another telltale bit of prose I'd thought was mine alone, my faith in Swampy's loyalty wavered.

I couldn't help notice that he's gone for long period of time, never around for holidays, or weekends. Lately even when he's home, he's exhausted and not in the mood to work.

A sick feeling that I'd been a fool to trust a cheating muse began to seep in. Soon I began questioning everything he did. Every disappearance seemed ominous. The third time I read one of his trademark twists in another writer's novel I cried myself to sleep for a week. Then I decided to fight back. Swampy can't resist steamy scenes. Maybe I can keep him too busy to think about cheating. Or maybe I'll find a new bad-tempered, hard-headed, arrogant louse of a muse. No one is irreplaceable.