This isn't me, but my maternal grandmother, Todora Halls Lansing, the family black sheep. She was known for her stories (although some called them lies), being the world's worst driver, and having an elaborately landscaped back yard. She was said to suffer from bipolar disorder, but I simply saw her as always fun to be around. She died in a house fire after rescuing a grand-nephew when I was 10 years old.
Welcome to Todora!
I think of her now as my muse. Whenever I consider starting a new project, I imagine driving to her house to tell her all about it. She gets excited and wants in on the fun, saying, "We'll get into such wonderful trouble!" We climb into the car and take off toward some unknown destination. I have to do the driving of course. She is in charge of finding a radio station to listen to, which is the proper role of a muse.