G’day all! It’s the first weekend in August, and Julie promised if I wrote her blog post today, she would work. Write, that is.
So far, I haven’t seen much writing going on. However, I have seen a lot of creative energy building up. So much the better. The other Muses don’t seem quite as frustrated as I’ve been, trying to get my writer to work.
Granted, Julie has loaded her calender a bit heavy this summer. I’ve been trying to convince her to take a break, spend some time away to write, but as usual, she resists. Something about “real life” and things like her job.
So every year I wait for this opportunity to ramp up my writer’s energy. They landed at this quaint B&B three years ago, and the energy of the river out back and the quiet setting make my job as a Muse a hell of a lot easier.
“I hope you’re writing my blog post.”
And now she decides to talk to me. “That was our deal, love. You write, I’ll do your blog post. So why are you not writing?”
“Did you hang out at the lake with us last night? Because we sure spent a lot of time talking about writing when it was supposed to be a break.”
I debate whether to tell her. It was supposed to be a break from their critique circle, but four hours is a long time to listen to a very loud band below deck. If they hadn’t talked about writing, I would have been worried.
Besides, I wanted to hear the band. FYI, not my preferred type of music. “So what if I was, love? After the day you had in the critique circle, I figured I deserved a break, too.”
My writer drops into a nearby chair. “It was a good session.”
She’s right. Her Writing Sisters were able to point out the things I’ve been trying to get her to see. It is so frustrating when she doesn’t listen to me or understand what I’m trying to tell her. Then again, she’s been distracted with all the stuff for her book–the bookstore appearances, the book fairs, and now the workshop for her Sisters in Crime meeting this coming week.
“Does this mean you are going to write today, love?”
She gets up to open the door to a screened-in porch that faces the river, letting in the song of the water. “I have to revise everything I’ve written so far.”
“It’s called writing.”
“I know, I know.” She blows out a breath. “When am I going to get my workshop done?” She shakes her head. “No, I’m going to work on book 2 today, not the workshop.”
“Did you find a good spot to hang out? They took the sitting log out from the river.”
“Don’t worry about me. You focus on your writing, love. I’m around.”
She stands, turns to leave, then looks back. “Don’t forget the picture of Zoey.”
Cats. Every writer has them, it seems. “I won’t.”
Every year she does this, gets energized. The trick is keeping the energy going when she leaves.