My muse came crashing back into my life this past week, so here I am bonding with the laptop on a snowy Saturday afternoon, determined to create.
Muses can be kind or cruel, but as long as they’re communicating and pushing us to create, they’re doing their job, right? And the characters in my novel have been nothing more than distant friends for too long, like old high school friends, or friends from out of state that I haven’t seen for years. But now they’re back in the picture, demanding the attention they deserve, so we’re getting reacquainted.
I pitched my novel to a top agent a little while back and she enthusiastically asked me to submit my entire manuscript for her to read and… And, like a self-inflicted taser blast to the, uhh, let’s say gut, I didn’t send it. It wasn’t ready, that’s for sure. But, while that should have motivated me to work both day and night to edit and re-write and completely clean it up to send it to her, it pushed me in the other direction, to all of those thoughts of doubt that make looking at the page on the screen cause heart palpitations.
So, I blew it. And that taser left its mark.
But while muses might be silent for long stretches, they don’t quit on you. They pop back in, put you in a headlock (yeah, my muse is a bad ass) and make it clear that they won’t let go until you’ve done what you’re supposed to do. And what I’m supposed to do is write. So, it’s at least 5 chapters edited today, and 1,000 words added, or else my muse won’t let me sleep tonight. And I’m okay with that… As long as she doesn’t pull out the taser.