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Vader Strike Force One

Have you ever been plugging along, in the middle of a great escape scene, only to realize you weren’t alone? Someone else was there, perhaps watching your every move? Most of the time these unexpected visitors are harmless. They show up and inspire you. They remind you of words you pulled out of the depths of your memory, but have since forgotten–again. They ask us questions and get us to consider new ideas. Or maybe, for some of you, they badger you on days when you just don’t feel like working. I assume they can take any form. A young woman in a hippie skirt with a head full of braids, or a warrior with purple pants and snake tattoos.  Some people call them muses.

My son calls them my helpers. He makes them for me often and I dutifully put them up in the tiny corner of our living room I’ve carved out for our make-shift office. I look at them every day. When my fingers are tapping away and suddenly stop–mid-thought–frozen–wondering what comes next, I look down and see them and that’s when the magic happens. They’ve become my unlikely muses, pushing me forward when I need a push, getting me to think outside the box. At the moment, I have a Darth Vader strike team, plus one.  

 

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No, I’m not cutting my beard!

They’re quite reasonable fellas (sadly, I’ve got no females in the bunch. Lego doesn’t make many women). I’ve concluded they carry out all their missions using some sort of advanced technology, because I’ve never heard a peep out of them. Even the little Irish guy, who I thought might become a problem if he fell into any Lego alcohol barrels. In that, I may have disappointed Greybeard. We don’t have any alcohol and if he’s got a thing for coffee, he cleans up well after himself because all the coffee grounds are always gone in the morning.          

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Containment Guy

 They’re tidy little folks, too. Must take a shower after every mission. That, or the guy with the tube around his neck has some handy cleaning solution for everyone. Might explain the lack of coffee grounds or mud. Great job, guys!      

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Grrr!

I swear I can hear this one shivering. Brrrr! Or is he growling?            

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Write, or die!

Snake-warrior guy is either scaring the pants off Procrastination, or preparing to chop off my fingers for not typing fast enough. I never can tell.          

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Stop making excuses!

They’ve been hanging around a while now. We’ve got a great rapport. They stand there and intimidate me, I write. Most of the time. You’d think since we’re such great pals, they’d help out, maybe finish a chapter or two every now and then. They never do.  

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