A blank page stares at me, so I stare back, trying to ignore the ache in the right side of my face. Creative thoughts flee from the pain like cockroaches from light.
Gawd, I hate sinus headaches. Except, they may not be sinus-related at all. Man, this getting old stuff really screws up the system.
“You’re not old, love.” My Muse settles into the recliner beside me in my writing office. “You haven’t hit half a century yet. You’re barely middle-aged.”
“Tell that to my headache. You heard what my doctor said. She thinks they’re hormonal.” I’ve been getting them since I turned forty or so. That’s old enough for my system to start wigging out.
He indicates the notebook on my lap. “Excuses, love.”
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. “I turned in my proposal. I’m not sure what to work on next.”
“You know what you need to do, love. Plan your website revamp, work on your e-newsletter strategy, or work on the outline for the next book. Pick one.”
The ache around my right eye sharpens, reaches a finger to my right temple and digs in. “Aren’t you and Mr. E supposed to be doing some sort of prep for your Super Bowl party tomorrow?”
“Nope. We decided we’d just gather at the sports pub with the other Muses. No muss, no fuss. And you’re changing the subject.”
“Yeah, because I can’t think about writing when my face hurts. Maybe I’ll start looking at seed catalogs. We’re moving the garden this year.” Yep, into an area that’s been invaded by creeping Charlie. Oh joy.
“Then again, I’ve got a couple books I need to finish, including Mr. E’s debut and a comparison title for my book. I should probably finish those.” I turn to my Muse. “You know I called you just so I’d have something to write in my blog today, right?”
A grin inches across his face. Heat washes through me. “Of course I know. I’m your Muse, love. I also know it’s killing you to be in this uncertain place with your writing. So work on the outline for the next book. Send Mae that email about her website, and ask her about her newsletter while you’re at it. You have to write. You’re as antsy as a third-grader in brand-new dress clothes–the uncomfortable kind. It’s driving me nuts.”
“Just like this stupid headache is driving me nuts. Welcome to the club.”
Today is supposed to be relatively warm (around 30 F) with a kicking wind (16 mph), but I’m going to go for a walk anyway. That always seems to help when I’m stuck or lacking creative energy. Or I could just peruse seed catalogs for a while. That’s always fun, dreaming about a garden with few weeds and gorgeous veggies. I’ll have to start my seeds in a few weeks. Or maybe I’ll look up recipes for creeping Charlie.
Have a great weekend, and WRITE!