I open the door to my writing office.
Colored index cards cascade across my writing desk atop a collection of notebooks, along with an assortment of writing instruments. Hey, that’s where my purple highlighter went.
The white board has copied itself to another wall, but instead of my plotline, the new board is covered with titled lists for a couple of the characters in my WIP.
Two recliners flank the small refrigerator in the corner, and a wicker basket filled with microwave popcorn and Ghirardelli chocolates occupy a small table nearby. A stuffed Toothless toy dragon guards the basket.
Hoo boy. And my Muse is nowhere in sight. Outside the window the vista morphs into a scene overlooking forested hills with trees just starting to change into their autumn colors. The rolling gurgle of a stream over rocks accompanies the view.
“Will this work for you, love?” My Muse comes up behind me and nudges me the rest of the way into my writing office so he can close the door. He’s wearing his burgundy henley, sleeves shoved to his elbows, and jeans. He smells like apple cider and rain and that indescribable scent men have when they come in from working outside that makes you want to–er, cuddle with them on the couch and watch a movie (That’s what I was going to say. Honest 🙂 ). You know, before they get really sweaty and smelly.
I shake off the distraction. “What the hell?”
He crosses to the corner and pulls a bottle of New Glarus Brewery’s Moon Man from the fridge. “What do you mean, ‘what the hell’? You’ve got a direction, you’ve got a deadline, and I’m not going to let you screw that up. You’re too close.” He wraps me in a warm embrace ending with a hearty pat on my back before he opens the beer and hands it to me. “I’m proud of you, love. You’re almost there.”
I feel like someone set up a surprise party for me but forgot to tell anyone to show up. “Um, o-kay. I still have a good couple months of work to do, so why all this?”
He frowns. “Really? You’re not feeling the creative vibe here?” He moves to the window. The scenery adjusts to show less hills, more green trees with blushes of autumn pink, orange, and gold. A light breeze smells like forest and earth and fall. “Better?”
“Look, this is all great, but I need to map out my edits before this.” I start to return the beer, but hesitate. Why waste good brew? I mean, he went through the trouble of opening it for me. “This is serious.”
“I know it is. You are so close. This is your chance, love. We’re going to get these revisions done, polished, reviewed by beta readers, and sent off by the end of November. This is it. I can feel it.” He tugs me toward the second white board. “Here are your notes. We need to refine the ‘what-if’ scenarios and figure out where to make the changes.” He picks up a marker and starts another list. “I wonder if I should invite Sierra and Quinn back.” He turns to me. “Would that help?”
“No. The feedback is for the victim’s character thread, a little for Sierra’s brother’s thread, and other bits and pieces. I can revise the final confrontation without them. They’d only interfere, anyway. They’re not going to like one of the changes I’m going to make.” I know writing–well, revision–is a ton of work. I can make those changes without screwing up the rest of the story, right?
A dark figure appears. Doubt.
My Muse glares at it. It vanishes with a squeak of protest. “I’m going to lock that damn Doubt up with your Night Fury.” He grabs my shoulders and shakes me until I meet his eyes. “You got this. There’s a reason things happened the other day, remember that. You got this, love.”
I had a wonderful experience this week that equals another step toward my goal. It’s finally hitting me, after a day of surreal shock. I’m really doing this. Back to two- and three-hour sessions after work to get the revisions done. No NaNoWriMo for me this year, breaking my 12-year streak, but I proved to myself last year I can do a NaNo writing marathon any time I want to (take that, 50k words in 28 days–HA!).
Have a great weekend, and WRITE!!