Chasing Inspiration (July IWSG)

I left a comment on a blog a month or two ago that went something like this:

I've come to the conclusion that inspiration cannot be chased and caught. It's an elusive little bugger. But when you least expect it, it can whack you upside the head with brilliance. Just don't duck. ;-)

My reasoning behind the comment was that we writers cannot sit at our desks, don a tin foil cap sprouting antennae and expect to intercept brilliant inspiration as though it were radio waves. We can't just throw on our baseball caps, lace up our cleats and hold out our gloves to catch inspiration as it falls from the sky.

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It doesn't work that way. At least not for me.

More times than one, I've waited at my desk, hoping, yearning, pleading for a visit from my muse. I've gone walking and driving, knowing that she usually drops by at inconvenient hours and places. All to no avail.

While I believe that inspiration cannot be chased and caught, I also believe it frequently answers active invitations. The key word there is active.

An active invitation requires movement: fingers typing, hands scribbling or eyes reading. Rarely am I inspired while watching movies or television. Such activity leaves my imagination dormant. It sits there, content to watch what someone else has already created.

It is, in my opinion, the act of creating that invites the muse. We may end up tossing every single word we write while waiting, but the waiting will often not be in vain.

So the next time you're finding inspiration elusive, chase it by actively inviting it. You may just catch it.

My Muse Tried to Kill Me Today (Repost)

Seeing as how I am up to my eyebrows in edits on The Bonding in order to satisfy a vow I made, I've been unable to craft a nice mid-week post. Drafting one from scratch wasn't even an option and my four dozen or so half-written posts refused to be hurried by the blogger who had let them sit unfinished all this time.

Therefore, I dug back into my greatest-posts-ever-told vault and grabbed a light one to publish again. (This is known as the Bloggy version of a Reprint. Yay!) Maybe five-to-ten percent of the awesome GFC folks over there on the right were over there on the right when this originally published.

Please enjoy My Muse Tried to Kill Me Today. This is based on a true story.

"Not in the car!" I told her.  "We've talked about this!  I'm driving.  Fast!"

"Just jot it down, Jeff.  You got that new gadget, didn't you?  Use it."

"I can't type on virtual keyboards driving 65 miles per hour," I growled.

"Well, doesn't it have one of those thingies built into it?  You know, one of those recorder things?"

"Probably.  I don't know.  I ain't got it all figured out yet.  It's still new."

"Come on, Jeff.  You work with computers!  What's taking you so long?"

"I'm old," I quipped.  Old people like me get cranky sometimes--especially on highways doing 65mph while dodging other drivers equally distracted by muses of their own.  "Can't you just hold that thought until I get into town?  We'll hit a bunch of red lights.  I promise."

"Well what about one of those little thingies that you talk to and it plays it back for ya?  You wouldn't have to type or write anything then, just run your mouth like you usually do."

If I could have found her eyes I'd have given her a real meaningful stare about then.  But she had been spouting some mighty good stuff the whole way into work.  I needed to stay on her good side.  But still... "Where were you before I left the house this morning?  Or over the weekend for that matter?  I'd could have written everything down then."

"Oh, Jeff.  You think I ain't got nothing better to do than to memorize your schedule?  I'm a free spirit.  I'm not just a 9-to-5 girl, you know."

No, I thought to myself.  You're a pop-in-while-Jeff's-driving kind of girl.  "Well, I waited on you last night.  You stood me up.  Again."

"You know, you might try coming up with some of this stuff yourself sometime.  It's not that hard."

"Woah!  Hang on!  Some dude behind me's a sniffin' my tailpipe!"  I find twelve feet of empty space between two cars on my right and swerve into it like the crazy old coot that I am.  "You're gonna get me killed!"

"Wow, who taught you how to drive?"

My back stiffened and I quietly told her, "I'm a safe driver, thank-you, when people aren't distracting me."

"If you say so.  Are you gonna write any of this down or not?  I ain't got all day to spend with you.  One of my other clients is writing this juicy love scene in a romantic novella."  She grinned.  "He's cute too."

"Well, go check on him then.  I'll see if I can find one of those little recorder thingies after work.  Okay?"

"Okay.  I'll pop in later, Jeff.  Drive safe now!"


Alrighty folks, I'm curious.  Any of your muses ever put your well-being in jeopardy?  Care to tell us how?

Creativity Pills: Take As Directed

There is a secret to unleashing one's creativity.  It comes in the form of pills.  And I keep plenty on hand.

Creativity Pills: Take As Directed

These pills are specially marked with little white Ms so as to not be confused with other pills prescribed for other needs.  The "M" stands for Muse.  Or maybe Magic.  (Possibly Maniac, but we'll discount that possibility for the moment.)

These marvels are brilliant! Find the answers to your most perplexing questions wrapped in the sweetest of colors!

Can't decide your protagonist's next plot twist?  Pop an M!

Does the lead supporting character live or die?  Pop an M!

Can't find the right voice for the antagonist?  Just pop an M!

These little beauties are gems, priceless imagination enhancers fit for kings and eccentric introverts alike.

Monetary minded mages meticulously manufacture magnificent Ms for your creative pleasure! And they're available without a prescription! 

But wait! There's more!

Start your regimen of Ms today and get this beautiful container free!  Use it for the life of your creativity needs.  Even if you return the Ms keep the container as your free gift!

Too little tension?  Place the Ms just out of reach, but plainly in sight.  Feel the yearning.

Pacing too fast?  Let the M dissolve slowly, melting in your mouth, not in your hands.

Pacing too slow?  Grab Ms by the handful, munch with wild abandon until your prose (and pulse) quicken.

But if hours of devouring candy coated chocolate hasn't enhanced your climax, well, that's what kisses are for!

Come Visit My Muse and Me at Odessa Black's

Friend and (nearly) neighbor, Odessa Black, invited me over to her blog. She pried from me my secret. I had a bit of lighthearted fun revealing said secret in the post.

Stop by and say "hi" if you've got the notion.  I'd love to see you there!

You Might Be a Muse Abuser If...

As many of you know, I finished drafting my first manuscript, The Bonding, back in April.  Several kind and gracious readers endured my wordiness and provided fantastic feedback. (My sincerest gratitude to each of you!)  After digesting that feedback, I began intense revisions and editing.

It is now essentially complete.

A map from the book

And as I turned my focus to beginning the sequel, my mind tarried on the process of creating the initial draft.  And on my muse.  I came to the realization that while drafting The Bonding I had done something unpardonable.  I had abused my muse.

I've vowed to not make the same mistake again. And like a reprimanded schoolboy, a hundred times I shall write.

I will not abuse my muse.
I will not abuse my muse.
I will not abuse my muse.

So how does one abuse one's muse?  And how can you tell if you're guilty of it?  The ways are many.  And the consequences severe.

You might be a muse abuser if...

• You stop drafting to reach for the thesaurus.  Word choices are important, but not while you're drafting.  I've concluded that it's more important to get the essence of scene and plot and character down than it is to find that perfect word.  Trust me on this.  Your thesaurus isn't going anywhere; your ideas might.

• You fail to write down your muse's ideas.  We're convinced we'll remember every nuance of that newly discovered plot development, amazing character or dynamite scene.  The muse gave us gold.  How could we forget it?  Yet we get home, sit at the computer and realize we've forgotten the very detail that made it so perfect.

• You vow to begin writing just as soon as: you've finished checking email, Facebook, Twitter, Google+, Pinterest, GoodReads and your blog comments.  Muses are temperamental.  They don't like to be kept waiting.  Ignore them too long and they'll leave.

• You reject an idea out of hand.  Even the most ludicrous idea can be made to work if you'll let the muse think on it for a spell.  And once it works, you've opened a world of possibilities to explore.

• You self-edit while you draft.  This is a biggie!  Not only does this hamper the flow of creativity, it can jumble consistency, cut scenes short, or alter the feel and flavor of a scene.  It can derail dialog and even change a character's voice mid conversation.  Draft first.  Edit later.

• You give up and stop writing.  This is muse abuse at its worst.  Forgiveness for this only comes when you've apologized in earnest and resumed writing with renewed dedication.

These are but a few manifestations of muse abuse.  Plenty more exist.  Do yourself a favor.  Learn prudence.  Be wise.  Don't abuse your muse!

Have you ever abused your muse?  Care to share? 

Muse For Hire

Seventy-four.  That's how many ceiling tiles hang above the sofa in my muse's office--excluding the partials.  I know because I counted them.  Repeatedly.  Perhaps my time would have been better spent giving this creative spirit a name.

"And how does that make you feel?" she asked.

"Maybe you should ask Jake that question."

My muse thinks she's a psychiatrist!

"Why?"

"Because he's the one you killed."  I found her wry grin more than a little disconcerting.  "You're all heart, aren't you?"

"Jake wasn't real, Jeff.  You really need to get a better handle on differentiating these things."

"I'm getting better."  Of course.  She always answers my claims of progress with silence.  The woman really does think she's part psychiatrist.  "I didn't resurrect Brian, did I?"

"Brian never even spoke a line of dialog, Jeff."

"Your point?"

"The point, Jeff, is it wasn't much of a sacrifice to keep him dead."

I kept my eyes level and focused on hers.  "You know, I do have a real psychiatrist."

"And what did she say about Brian?"

"He," I corrected.  "Less than he had to say about you."

"I can imagine.  Did you tell him I'm attractive?"

"I'm married!"

"Doesn't mean I'm not attractive."

"It means I know better than notice."  That impish smile of hers always beckons trouble.

Can you trust a muse for hire?

"Well, I still say your story was better off with Jake dead."  The timer dinged.  "Already?  My, where does the time go?  You're always so much fun to work with, Jeff.  Same time next week?"

I rose from the couch and loosed a resigned sigh as I grabbed the door knob.  "Of course."

"Oh, tell your friends I'm running a special.  You get a free consultation for each new client you bring me."

My breath caught the moment I realized I'd called her a sadist aloud.  What on Earth did I just do?

"Maybe you are making progress," she said with her widest grin yet today.  Leaning forward, she dropped a few business cards into my hand.  "Here, make sure you give them these."

August is Awesome Because of Lauren Ritz

Today's awesome guest is one serious writer!  Not many of us would give up our day job and commit a full year to nothing but our writing.  Yet Lauren has!  And she's cranked out a boatload of work during that well-used time.

I've had the privilege of critiquing not one, but two of Lauren's books.  She has a talent for bringing characters to life and has a writer's voice that's a pleasure to read.  She gave me some amazing feedback on my book as well.

And she's provided two posts for you!  Both offer glimpses into who this awesome writer is.  Please welcome Lauren Ritz!

The Book Rescuer

I have this insatiable need to rescue books from thrift stores. There's just something about a book sitting on that shelf with a sticker on it that says it costs 50 cents. I get the same urge at the library book sales, where I have to clutch my wallet and walk by without looking.

Actually I don't. I browse the books, and then walk away because I left all my money in the car (or at home, as the case may be). Deliberately.

I have three bookshelves, and on most of those shelves the books are two deep. So the other day I went looking for something to read. I was in recharge mode, which means that I needed a break from writing, and I automatically headed for my paper friends. Old friends, many of them, and favorites.

I looked through three bookshelves, pulled out the front layers to check what was behind. Nothing looked right. So I sat there in front of one of the book-cases, pulling out books at random and then shoving them back in. Reading my favorite parts and replacing the books.

At that point my eye fell on the folder that holds my finished novels, and I spent the rest of the day reading them.

I don't know whether this is OCD or narcissistic. I want to read my own books. Not just for editing and rearranging the plot-lines. I want to read them for fun.

I've heard and read that if you still like your book you're not done editing it. I don't agree. Whether my books are ready for publication or not (which is another topic altogether) I like them. I can curl up in the corner of the couch and then look up at the clock and realize it's 3:AM, wake up at five with the imprint of pages visible on my cheek before I stagger off to bed.

Someday being the Book Rescuer may take on a new angle, when I have to leave my money in the car so I don't try to rescue my own stories from thrift-store shelves.

A Rainbow in Black and White

I was talking to my muse the other day and we got in an amiable argument over who writes better. I contend that she writes better, she insists that I write better.

I can write a short story in 2000 words. She takes the same simple idea and it becomes a novel. Maybe she's got a writing fairy godmother. I don't know. But my writing is spare. It was described once as "placeholders in a shadow world" because you never see the characters, or the setting. No colors, no movement, no emotion. Not until I'm done editing.

She's got this eye for seeing all the plot points necessary to get from A to Z in a straight line. I wander off to 7 and 22, find a detour into G and then take off into the stratosphere riding Q. At some point I get to Z, but that Z may not be on the same line as the A I started from. So it takes a lot more editing after the fact.

It also makes conversations between us really interesting.

She writes in all the little details that flesh out the characters; hair color, eye color, whether they know how to tat lace or like talking to garden fairies. I start with a sentence on the page and it stays a sentence on the page. Just ink. Or pixels, or whatever, until I start the editing process.

I give her the odd plot twists and ideas she would never have thought of. I also tone down her adjectives. She keeps me at least tentatively anchored to a single story, even if that story is in black and white. We work well together that way.

I asked her a few weeks ago if I could play in one of her worlds. I had a short story that I was working on that seemed to fit in perfectly with a novel she's writing. We started talking, and an hour or so later she started laughing. "You're writing a novel!"

No, I'm not. It's a short story.

It's a novel. 

It's a short story. 

For some reason she see's suggestions and possibilities that I just can't see. So we discussed it, and talked it over, and it's 13,000 words so far, on its way to becoming a--well, at least a novella.

That's why she's the better writer. Because she see's the colorful possibilities while I'm arguing with myself over whether the black marks on the page are DPI or pixels.

About Lauren Ritz:

Lauren Ritz is awesome!

Lauren Ritz was born in Utah and continues to reside there, somewhat to the chagrin of those who know her well. She lives halfway between her garden and chaos, taking out her frustration with both in her writing.  She graduated with a degree in English (the first language kind) and is currently a freelance writer, at least until the end of August.

She began writing at the age of six with a "journal entry" about aliens flying through her bedroom window and landing on her wall. She tried to start earlier, but was handicapped by the fact that she couldn’t draw well enough.

Writing is her lifelong obsession, taking up the majority of her time when she isn’t involved in other less compelling interests.  She has nine novels completed and four of the nine completely edited.  So far no luck with the agent route.

Find Lauren at:
Her Eclectic blog,
on Twitter at LaurenRitz1
Facebook Page at laurenritzthewriter

To see the first three pages of Lauren's finished novels, visit Halfworld

The Itch

There it is again.  That itch in the back of my head.  You know the spot, right?  Just a few inches above the neckline and a little behind the ear.  Does no good to scratch at it.  The itch is too deep to reach.

I steal a glance over my shoulder.  I know she’s nearby.  She always shows up right after the itching starts.  A little like someone always ends up knocking at Jed Clampett’s door right after the music in the walls stops playing.  She does love making an entrance.

Yes, she plants the seed and the itching starts.  And then I wait.  Not long.  Just long enough for the itch to mutate into a tingle.  The quick grow fertilizer she uses causes the tingle.  It’s her own proprietary formula, I’m sure.  Something like Miracle Grow for the imagination.

I can’t help but wonder what she planted.  A new story idea?  A character?  A scene?  She never plants an entire story.  It might be nothing more than a line of dialog causing that itch.  She’s funny that way, my muse.

I’ll sit and ponder, patiently waiting for her to do her thing.  I’ve learned not to rush her.  Mere moments will pass before I hear her disembodied giggle.  She’ll show herself then, maybe with a wink, perhaps a wry grin, but always with contagious excitement dancing on her face.  She’ll nibble on her lower lip and bounce those pretty brows.  That’s her way of telling me it’s time to scratch and discover what’s sprouting from that itchy spot in the back of my head.

She's so awesome, that muse of mine.

How do you know when your muse is near?

To Blazes With the Formula

So far this year I've critiqued four complete novels, dozens of chapters and a boatload of short stories.  I've also had my own novel critiqued by others in addition to it receiving a thorough inspection by a professional developmental (content) editor.  I think I've learned something through all this.

Forget the formula!  At least during the first draft.

(Yeah, that advice is worth exactly what you paid for it, but I'm almost sold on it.  Besides, that advice isn't aimed at seasoned, professional authors steadily pumping out a book or three a year.)

Is a formula needed to tell a good story?  I don't think so.  But a formula is needed to tell a story well.

So why forget it?  Because the purpose of the first draft is not to write a best seller.  The purpose of the first draft (for me at least) is to tell the story that I might one day be able to sell.

I wrote The Bonding with little thought to a three act structure beyond knowing I needed a beginning, a middle, and an ending.  But face it, little thought was required.  All stories have a beginning, middle and end.  My first draft would have suffered immensely had I focused on formula over story.  My first draft was never destined for Amazon's KDP, nor were its first three chapters queued up in my email's outbox.  

Once you've got your multiple book contract or you're writing to meet deadlines imposed upon you by your publisher, you've probably got the knack of storytelling down fairly well.  That means you probably already write to formula without the formula sitting in the forefront of your mind--where your muse should be sitting.

If, while penning or typing that initial draft, you're concentrating on the three steps of this or the seven points of that, you're not concentrating on what matters.  You can't just stop the creative juices and yell, "Oh crap! I forgot my faux resolution!"  Most of us who entertain a muse know a muse doesn't like to be stopped on a technicality.  Technicalities are for later, for rewrites and revisions--not first drafts.

I'm not advocating that you banish the time-honored building blocks of crafting a story, I'm saying craft the story.  I've never met an author who writes a perfect first draft.  Get the story out.  Let it flow.  Let it grow.  Let it be all it can be.  Once done, then examine its structure.  Mold it.  Massage it.  Perform surgery on it, whether it be a nip and tuck or an amputation or a transplant.

Give some thought to structure and formula while you plot and outline.  Weigh the draft once it's finished and see if it balances the equation.  Measure it against the markers of accepted storytelling practices once the muse has quieted and smiles in satisfaction.  Only then can it be fully and properly evaluated.

There is wisdom in choosing the right tool for the right job, but there is also wisdom in choosing the right time to do the job.

How a Geek Writes an Epic Fantasy part 2

In my previous post (How a Geek Writes an Epic Fantasy part 1) I introduced you to Magic Muse, my writing workbench.  But that's only a portion of my Epic Fantasy Writing tool set.  I also wrote an additional program that I call Visual Story.  (One day I'll merge the two into a single application.)  It has a number of uses, but I use it (loosely) as a storyboard or outline interface.

Essentially, the application consists of textboxes that can be sized and arranged on a large backdrop.  Each box contains one section for a title or heading and a second section for content.  Colors can be applied to each box's borders, titles and content.  I prefer setting the border colors according to plots.

I tend to wrap a complete chapter into a single box.  I list a description of the chapter's scene(s) and indicate which character's viewpoint is being used for each scene.  This works well for documenting chapters already written.  For planning, well, let's just say that this is about as close to true outlining as I get.

I've written a number of other applications over the years.  One served as virtual index cards that I intended to use for character bios, description of places and things, etc., but I've found that my scribblet in Magic Muse serves that purpose well enough for me.

But as much as I love my electronic tools, I don't rely exclusively on them.

Whiteboard
I have a whiteboard beside my desk at all times.  I've been known to draw on the whiteboard.  I sketched out the Hosiyin Citadel from my first book on it.  There were characteristics I knew I wanted, but I needed my eyes to see it so I could see it through a character's eyes.

I use the fine-tipped dry-erase markers so I can scribble loads of legible text.  I'll occasionally jot down the names of characters that need addressing in the story and how soon.  I'll work out plot mechanics for finding logical reasons for Character A to be in Location B so that Event C transpires according to plan.  I may write about dragons and magic, but even they must adhere to some form of logic.

Journal
When it comes down to fleshing out my world's settings, background, history and other such trivia that makes it into the manuscript only by--at best--a passing reference. Journals and diaries are great places for me to discover my world's history, back story.

I used this method for working out details of the last major war in my book, exploring treaty details, discovering the origins of races, even for writing short stories that serve no purpose other than enabling me to flesh out characters before they make it into the book.

The actual manuscript
I sometimes type quick notes, reminders, potential dialog or possible narrative snippets right inside the manuscript itself, usually at the end of the scene or chapter.  I do this when the snippet must be addressed or incorporated before moving too far into the next scene or chapter.

I've tinkered with index cards, college or narrow ruled spiral-bound notebooks, even loose leaf paper, but I really prefer a searchable, organized electronic means to store notes. And of course, I now have my Android tablet.  It's great for proofing what I've written.  The format and display is just different enough that I'll spot mistakes that I've overlooked a hundred times on the computer monitor.

What tools do you use?

How a Geek Writes an Epic Fantasy part 1

It's tough not to be a geek when you're male, a computer programmer and a lover of fantasy.  In fact, I'm so geeky that I wrote my own computer program to help me write my epic fantasy.  (That should rank me fairly high on the geek-o-meter, yes?)

My biggest challenge in writing epic fantasy is consistency.  Spend too many months "discovery writing" anything of that scope and errors are bound to creep into the manuscript.  Red hair becomes blonde.  A character is from Osek-Dahm in one chapter and suddenly from Jerok Thel in a subsequent one.  If you're not careful you may even forget which distant countries are at war with each other.

So I needed to find a quick and easy way to record these details and have them readily available when needed.  I searched the net.  I found some that had good features.  I found some that had marvelous interfaces.  But I didn't find one that tripped my trigger.  But hey, not a problem, I'm a software developer so there was really only one choice I could make.

Write my own!

And so I did.  I created Magic Muse, my very own, tailor-made, writing workbench.

This is a Visual Basic application I wrote many years ago to handle all the things that I felt I needed in a writing application.  I still use it for drafts.  It interfaces with MS Word for word counts, thesaurus, spell and grammar checking.  It even allows me to paste in maps and other diagrams.

All projects can be selected via a dropdown and each project can contain any number of cabinets, folders and documents displayed in the treeview on the left.  

I use the treeview to add, delete and reorder chapters and scenes.  Clicking a scene within the treeview opens it in the RTF (Rich Text Format) editor on the right.  Each scene is saved as an RTF document that I can load into MS Word, Open Office, MS Wordpad, etc.  When the book is finished, I can package its contents into a single RTF usable by those same word processors.  (Handy when you want to pump out a quick eBook using Word and Calibre for proofing on the Android tablet.)

Notes can be handled in one of two ways.  A cabinet can be created to hold all notes, which can also be broken down into multiple folders and documents.  My preference for most notes, however, is the scribblet.  That's the window attached to the bottom of the treeview and editor.  There are dedicated sections for things like characters, places, glossary of terms, etc.

The scribblet is collapsible.  To get items into the scribblet, I highlight the word I want to add, right-click it, and indicate which scribblet list should hold it.  I can then add all the generic information about the term and save it.  I can even "index" the term and Magic Muse will scan every scene and provide me with a complete list of where it was used.  (This is handy if I know I referenced the minor character Terrin, but don't recall which chapters featured him.)

I can do all the basic word processing tasks in Magic Muse.  And being able to quickly toggle between scenes instead of scrolling through a huge document is a massive plus for me.

In part two of this post I'll discuss additional ways I handle notes and plot lines, including my storyboard application that I, of course, wrote for myself.  I call it Visual Story and will leave you with a sneak peek at it.

Thus Saith the Muse

These are the commandments given to me by my muse.  By following them I'm guaranteed neither salvation nor success.  But by breaking them, I'm inviting failure.

I - Thou shalt make no excuses, only time to write.
Writing is a choice.  A writer is one who has chosen to discipline his writing.  An author is a writer who has successfully persevered in his chosen discipline.

II - Thou shalt indulge inspiration, foster creativity, and write what thou loveth.
Food is the nourishment for people.  Imagination is the nourishment for writers.  Feed it.  Let it grow.  Nourish the reader.

III - Thou shalt not waste thine words or thy reader's time.
Don't over-describe.  Don't capture the mundane.  Make every page count and every word serve a purpose.

IV - Remember thy plot lines and keep them true.
Plot begins with the story.  The plot is a promise.  To write the story is to promise the reader a satisfying and fulfilling conclusion.  Don't forget the promise.  And don't betray the reader's trust.

V - Honor thy grammar and thy punctuation that thy writing might endure.
Don't confuse your readers.  Engage them.  Challenge them.  Make them work at guessing what comes next, not what they just read.  They want to accompany you on the journey.  Let them.

VI - Thou shalt not kill thine characters without purpose.
Nothing in fiction should be senseless.  Everything must have purpose.  If you don't know why your fictional event happened then your readers won't know either.

VII - Thou shalt remain faithful to the readers of thine words.
Make promises to your readers and fulfill every one of them.  Promise them the world and deliver it.  Entice them.  Satisfy them.

VIII - Thou shalt not plagiarize nor cite without credit.
The wise learn from others.  And the wise credit those from whom they've learned.

IX - Thou shalt not write fiction without researching facts.
If your protagonist lives in the Ozarks, he cannot look through his window and see the Gulf of Mexico's gentle waves lapping the coastline. 

X - Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's success.
Words are free.  The experiences they convey can be priceless.  Crafting those experiences comes at a cost.  Revel in the success of your peers as you would have them revel in yours.


There are, of course, many more commandments that my muse whispers while I write.  This post only had room for ten.

How to Train Your Muse

Face it.  Training a muse is like training a cat to play the violin, and doing so without any experience and only being available to train it part-time. 

Or is it?

If you'd have asked me yesterday why I've written so many posts recently about Miss Muse I'd have stammered a bit before answering.  Thinking about it now, many reasons jump to mind, but they're the obvious reasons.  They make for good stories, funny moments and provide a means to a (hopefully) insightful post about creativity and inspiration.  I think the real reason lies much deeper.

I've recently noticed I have an interesting tendency.  I've gone back and read things that I've written in chronological order--everywhere.  I'm not just talking blog posts or chapters from my novel.  Those are the obvious places to look.  I found that this tendency bleeds into emails at work and home, even the little notes I jot down when I get ideas for something new to write.

The tendency?  To continue on a theme for an extended period of time.

It doesn't matter what this theme is.  It doesn't matter where this theme comes from either.  Once it gets lodged in my brain it stays there.  Percolating.  Simmering.  Oozing out in things I say and words I write.

This manifests itself in odd ways.  The most common manifestation is that I use the same words over and over and over.  Everywhere.  Odd words that I rarely use.  Or words I'm suddenly using in different ways, invoking their non-primary definitions.  Lately it's been words like linger and ponder.

So, on what have I been pondering and lingering lately?  Creativity and inspiration.  Hands down, without a doubt.  I'm into the climax of my book.  Sweat beads from my brow as I try to craft the perfect ending to my tale.  It's not easy.  It makes me a little nervous.  I'm groping for that inspiration, that creative flash of revelation that's going to make the ending perfect.

From the depths of my subconscious I'm longing to capture Miss Muse, hold her hostage until I complete this huge undertaking to which I've committed myself.  But such drastic measures aren't really necessary.  She doesn't want me trap her.  She doesn't even want me to entice her.  She wants me to invite her.

Therefore, I must train myself, not my muse.  I must find the pattern of her visits, when she likes to stop by, when she's willing to interrupt--and most importantly--when I'm most apt to listen.  I must train myself to prepare for those visits of hers and to take advantage of them.

Facebook bores her.  Bring it up and she's gone.  Catching up on emails?  Same thing.  No one wants to tarry where they don't feel welcome.  Not even Miss Muse.

It always comes down to discipline, doesn't it?  So no, this post isn't really about training our muses.  It's about training ourselves.  We are our own muses.  So I hope I can train myself better than I can train a cat.

So tell me, folks.  How do you train your muse?

My Muse Tried to Kill Me Today

"Not in the car!" I told her.  "We've talked about this!  I'm driving.  Fast!"

"Just jot it down, Jeff.  You got that new gadget, didn't you?  Use it."

"I can't type on virtual keyboards driving 65 miles per hour," I growled.

"Well, doesn't it have one of those thingies built into it?  You know, one of those recorder things?"

"Probably.  I don't know.  I ain't got it all figured out yet.  It's still new."

"Come on, Jeff.  You work with computers!  What's taking you so long?"

"I'm old," I quipped.  Old people like me get cranky sometimes--especially on highways doing 65mph while dodging other drivers equally distracted by muses of their own.  "Can't you just hold that thought until I get into town?  We'll hit a bunch of red lights.  I promise."

"Well what about one of those little thingies that you talk to and it plays it back for ya?  You wouldn't have to type or write anything then, just run your mouth like you usually do."

If I could have found her eyes I'd have given her a real meaningful stare about then.  But she had been spouting some mighty good stuff the whole way into work.  I needed to stay on her good side.  But still... "Where were you before I left the house this morning?  Or over the weekend for that matter?  I'd could have written everything down then."

"Oh, Jeff.  You think I ain't got nothing better to do than to memorize your schedule?  I'm a free spirit.  I'm not just a 9-to-5 girl, you know."

No, I thought to myself.  You're a pop-in-while-Jeff's-driving kind of girl.  "Well, I waited on you last night.  You stood me up.  Again."

"You know, you might try coming up with some of this stuff yourself sometime.  It's not that hard."

"Woah!  Hang on!  Some dude behind me's a sniffin' my tailpipe!"  I find twelve feet of empty space between two cars on my right and swerve into it like the crazy old coot that I am.  "You're gonna get me killed!"

"Wow, who taught you how to drive?"

My back stiffened and I quietly told her, "I'm a safe driver, thank-you, when people aren't distracting me."

"If you say so.  Are you gonna write any of this down or not?  I ain't got all day to spend with you.  One of my other clients is writing this juicy love scene in a romantic novella."  She grinned.  "He's cute too."

"Well, go check on him then.  I'll see if I can't find one of those little recorder thingies after work.  Okay?"

"Okay.  I'll pop in later, Jeff.  Drive safe now!"


Alrighty folks, I'm curious.  Any of your muses ever put your well-being in jeopardy?  Daydreaming atop a ladder?  Crossing the street?  Stumbling through the kitchen in the dark?  Go ahead.  Let me know.  I won't tell anyone.  Not even Miss Muse.

Personal Muse Hotline

Okay, the time has come.  I promised to tell you what happens when my muse doesn't answer my call.  Here's a glimpse.  Please remember that this is an abridged version of the encounter.

:::ring:::  :::ring:::  :::ring:::

"Hello!  Thank-you for calling Personal Muse Hotline.  Please hold.  Your call is very important, but keep in mind you’re not the only writer stuck in the mud right now.  I’ll be with you momentarily."  Afternoon Delight begins blaring through the earpiece.

"Great, even my muse puts me on hold."

Seconds go by.  Minutes.  I start singing along.  Gonna get my baby gonna hold her tight, gonna get me some afternoon delight.  Skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight!  I'm even doing the sound effects with it now.  The realization hits me that I'll be singing this song all day long at work tomorrow.  And someone will hear me.  Probably in the elevator.

"Please continue to hold.  I'm currently working with other writers.  You wouldn't believe how lame some of you guys are without me."

Aaarrrg!  It cut in right at the best part of the song!  More minutes pass.  Now it's K. C. & the Sunshine Band!  What's worse than getting caught in the elevator singing Afternoon Delight?  Getting caught in the elevator singing Shake Your Booty!  Mental note: Call in sick tomorrow.

"I'm sorry you're still having to wait.  Your call is important.  I'm helping you poor saps in the order your call was received.  There are currently seven-hundred-twenty-six callers ahead of you.  They need me.  Please continue to hold."

"Seriously?  I'm number seven-hundred-twenty-seven?"  At this point, I realize that 24-hour support may also mean 24-hour hold times.  I need to check my contract.

No!  Not Debbie Boone!  I will NOT sing about anybody lighting up my life at work tomorrow!  I have a reputation to protect!

"I'm sorry, but I'm still assisting other writers.  Have you considered finding assistance by using my new web site?  I've loaded it with prompts and included landscapes of places that would be perfect settings for your novel.  You can find all this and more at www.WhyAreYouStillHolding.com."

I close my eyes and sigh.  I'm surfing this very second, but I will not go to your website.  You're probably tracking my IP address.  You'll see me log on and disconnect my call.  Nope.  Not gonna fall for it, honey.

"If you don't want to check my website, I also offer an automated self-help directory designed to help you overcome the more common causes of writer's block."

"Oh no you don't!"

"For eye color, hair color, or height and weight suggestions, please say "What does my character look like?"

I say nothing.  I don't like using these "tell me what you need" phone systems--at all!

"For names of characters, places, races, or off-the-wall magic systems, please say 'What do I name this?'"

At this point, indentations form in my forehead from the impact of the telephone handset slamming repeatedly against it.

"For all your other I-can't-think-for-myself questions please say 'I need you more than I need to go to the bathroom' or stay on the line and I'll be with you shortly."

"Bathroom?"  Thanks, doll!  Now I do have a problem.  I stand.  No good.  I sit again.  I can hold this.  I know I can.  You can't outlast me, Miss Muse.  I know the game.  You don't know what I'm capable of when I'm desperate.

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand.  Did you say 'bathroom'?  If you did, please say 'yes' now."

"No!"

"Thank-you for calling.  I'm happy you were able to work out your problems on your own.  Please go to the bathroom.  And have a nice day."

:::click:::

I then proceed to sob like the toddler that just dropped his lollipop down the toilet. 

Do you have a muse that puts you on hold?  Do tell!

The Hardest Part

I'm mere chapters away from completing the initial draft of my novel.  And I'm finding it difficult.  It's got to be perfect, you understand.  Believable.  Exciting.  Fun and engaging yet steeped in tension.  I intend to drive the reader to tears, to shouts of joy, to wondering why they've bitten all the nails off their fingers.  And of course, to pondering the inevitable woes to come.  I think, for me, the ending is the hardest part.

I know what has to happen.  The goal is clear.  The climax and its aftermath are not in question.  It's simply a matter of getting the setup just right.  The beginning was easy.  And writing the middle was loads of fun.

You see, I'm essentially a discovery writer and offer no apologies for it.  Were I to treat my outline like the Gospel According to St. John or the Pentateuch then writing would be a chore or a (gasp!) job.  (I already have one of those and it pays better in a month than I'll probably earn in my lifetime as a writer.)

Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres. (1842)

It amazes me.  All I need to start a story--even a novel--is a simple line of dialog, or possibly a stimulating opening statement without a clue where it will lead.  Two little words launched this current NIP (novel in progress) of mine.  Oh, if wrapping up all the loose threads were as easy.

This is the point in my writing where my muse goes on vacation.  She's done her job.  She inspired.  She dropped impressive vistas, titillating events and dynamic characters right into my lap and let me play.  She smiled as I did so.  But she doesn't write the book.  She doesn't dig plot.  She cares little for consistency.  And she despises grammar.  All that, she leaves to me.

I hear many say they can never get started or they become mired in the muddle in the middle. Some complain of writing themselves into a corner or of losing inspiration or enthusiasm.  I'm sure I'll experience all these hindrances at some point.  I haven't really done so yet with this book.  For the most part it's flowed like a serene stream.  At times it's been a rushing river.  Of course there have been times when I crawled and clawed my way through scenes or meandered at plot detours or fiddled with a setting until I could get it just so.

Now I must master the mechanics.  Now is when the skill must arise.  To reuse my previous metaphor, I'm at bat.  The bases are loaded.  It's a full count.  And the pitcher is winding the payoff pitch.  Will I choke?  Will I swing and miss?  Will I stand idly by and watch the ball sail perfectly through the strike zone?  I'm being sifted and measured.  Do I have what it takes to knock it out of the park?

My epic fantasy needs an epic climax.  Perhaps an epic climax requires an epic struggle on the part of the writer?  I think that before I'm finished, the fingertips without fingernails will be my own.

Is this a dilemma unique to Jeff-the-aspiring-novelist?  Care to enlighten this suddenly frightened writer?  Have any insights or recommendations you'd care to share?  I'll let you borrow my muse. :)

A Happy Little Moment

A happy moment?  In the MIDDLE of the book?  How ghastly!  Happy is for the end, or maybe the beginning, but the middle?  Really?

Am I a wuss?  A sap?  Does this writer's heart bleed too profusely for his characters?  Do their constant dilemmas and turmoil tug too tautly upon the strings of my heart?  Have I burdened their souls to the point that I feel obliged to make reparations?  Am I seeking redemption for the woes I've cast upon them? 

And it's genuine nonetheless!  Not contrived.  Not obligatory.  It's not feel-good for feel-good's sake.  We're talking sincere, not counterfeit here.  And a little thing it was too, but crucial. 

Wait a minute.  Did I say crucial?  Why would such a brief, happy moment experienced by such a minor character in the middle of the book be crucial, I wonder.  My sweet muse breaks into a sly, little grin.  She knows.  And she's watching me piece it together. 

"Ah yes, I think I see now," mutters the newly enlightened writer in me.  This isn't about the now elated Terrin at all!  It's not about pleasing him.  It's not about him being pleased.  It's about revealing character--Daaron's character.

'Attaboy, Daaron, my little protagonist.  Show these characters who you really are.  You keep on growing, evolving, maturing.  You're doing this writer--and his muse--proud.

The Muse Likes It White

Nothing like a forecast of snow to waken this southern boy's muse.  Whether it falls or not doesn't matter.   It's the anticipation that excites her.  She peers out the window and her imagination ignites.  And, fortunate for me, she likes to share.

Don't get me wrong.  North Carolina sees snow.  Maybe not North Dakota style snow, but the white stuff isn't mistaken for volcanic ash.  Chicken Little doesn't scurry through the neighborhood fretting about the sky.  It's just snow.  White.  Pretty.  Unless it sticks.  (In which case it better be enough to get me out school, I mean work, the next morning.)

Where will she take me today?  Maybe she doesn't know that herself.  But she enjoys my company when she travels.  And I enjoy hers.

I'm hoping it's to Aridhum.  Nomed's there.  As is a Steward Stone.  She's showing me a river.  A long one, with a swift current that skirts the Elmarain forests and Jerok Thel.  It runs through Selenve, big city, old, historic.  It's a hub of commerce trafficking in goods and wares from Osek-Dham to Tori.  But I don't want to tarry there.  We'll travel by foot from Selenve.  Aridhum is the destination I have in mind.  I hope it's hers as well.