Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Even Muses Need Inspiration

Sometime after last Thanksgiving, my muse began to harry me to finish my most recent work-in-progress: Duty, Honor, Murder. Since I’d started to write—that is, plot it—years earlier for an online class, I was equally anxious to finish the first draft. I did, in fact, write The End on December 31, 2012.

I gave myself a round of applause, a few pats on the back and mentally added another glass of champagne to my New Year celebration. My mouth started to water, anticipating the extra large chocolate bar I’d get at my next RWA chapter meeting as a reward for finishing.

On January 2nd I reviewed and posted my critique partners’ comments and suggestions. (I try not to start revisions until I finish the first draft—otherwise I keep fiddling until even I can’t recognize the story I intended to write.)

About the middle of February I finished adding a bunch of scenes in my latter chapters and handed everything off to my cps for what I hoped was a final review, but I found myself making excuses not to post what they’d already given me.

Now, every writer is used to the muse taking off for vacation—sometimes for far longer than we like. This time, however, my muse was waiting on me.

I looked at other stories I had started, but those were pages and pages (and pages)—all handwritten. Have I mentioned that I really hate to type? Typing is at the very top of my least favorite writing tasks—a fraction higher than trying to teach my dictation system to understand me. I have the same issue with my cell phone not recognizing commands, so I can’t blame the software—even though I’d like to.

Anyway…I was mired in a morass of my own making. Reduced to watching television reruns while my muse whispered foul names and threatened to leave me—this time forever.

It was while watching a program I’d recorded that inspiration struck. I realized I’d procrastinated because I didn’t have something brand new to work on; now I did! And I can type it in small increments.

If only I knew where the story was going! But that’s the joy of being a pantser—the unexpected is such fun. And the muse is celebrating with me.

Am celebrating my ménages. Check them out.

Happy Spring!

Dee Brice
Erotic Fantasies Where Nothing is Forbidden