Facets of a Muse

Examining the guiding genius of writers everywhere


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Return of the Muse

My blog-writing, fantasy novelist buddy Diana Peach from Myths of the Mirror has invited her visitors to write a short story about our muses.

Heh.

I remember the last time we had a muse read-around. Man, what a blast!

I’ve finally passed 50k for NaNoWriMo–yippee! Of course, the story isn’t done yet. I’ll take a couple weeks to finish, or at least get mostly finished with it before I return to Book 2.

My Muse has been writing my posts during NaNo. Mostly. Thing is, when I hit 50k, he called Mr. E and the two of them took off on a pub crawl Down Under, because apparently bars around here are substandard.

Image by mlproject from Pixabay

A crisp breeze gusts through my writing office, sending shivers through me. The back door clicks shut. A scent of fried food, stale beer, and sweat permeates the air. My Muse toes off his deck shoes and hangs up a red windbreaker on the coat tree. He’s wearing a new pair of jeans, judging by the lack of worn seams, and a rugby jersey. Not as nice as his burgundy henley, but it does leave his forearms bare.

“That was a short crawl. Thought you and E would make a long weekend of it.”

He leans a hip on my desk, and crosses his arms on his broad chest. “He said he had to get back to Mae.”

“And you can’t find another muse to hang with? Diana has a whole convention over at her place.”

He grimaces. “The Merc and I have an understanding.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He understands I don’t follow his orders or requests, or hell, directions to the nearest Seven-11, and I understand a lack of personal hygiene and the stench of battle are none of my business.”

“O-kay. I sense a bit of animosity there.”

He pulls up a chair and straddles it, bringing his face even with mine. Whoa. His eyes are bluer than I remember. Was that divot in his chin always so enticing? And dimples. I haven’t noticed his dimples for a month. Is it getting warm in here?

A finger-snap yanks my wandering imagination back. “Are you paying attention, love?”

Um, sure. “Would you mind repeating that last part?”

“I said, I tried to warn the Bossy Muse about that guy, but she insisted her writer needed a change of scenery.”

“Scenery?” I ask. “Seriously? I mean, I get the whole Conan the Barbarian thing for the fantasy genre, but even Schwartzenegger would be a better Conan than that brute. At least his nose wouldn’t be crooked.”

My Muse arches a brow. “Schwartzenegger? Why him?”

“I don’t know. He did the movie.”

He shakes his head. “Anyway. You’ve had a couple days off.”

“Hey, one day for enjoying crossing the finish line, and one day to deal with my migraine.”

“I’ll give you the migraine day, but you need to finish the story so you can get back to Book 2.”

I lean back in my chair. “I know. That’s the plan. I figure I’ll give myself until Christmas on this project, then hit Book 2 after Christmas, since we won’t be going anywhere for the holidays anyway. I’m sure there will be another COVID-19 surge by then.”

“Good. Get back to work, love.”

Thanks to Diana for the opportunity to join another round of muse posts!

Keep on writing!

Hey, you! Why aren’t you writing?


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Hitting the final stretch #nanowrimo #amwriting

It’s quiet in my writer’s office.

Too quiet.

Lights are on, so she must be here. I close the back door to the office and hang up my flannel jacket. From this vantage I can’t see the recliners, but I suspect she’s tucked away in one of them. I have to say, she’s been doing quite well during NaNo.

The trick will be keeping it up once November is over.

“I know you’re here.”

I lean against her desk. As I suspected, she’s sitting in one of the recliners, footrest out, laptop on her lap (go figure!). Today she’s wearing a sweatshirt with a silhouette of a dragon filled with bookshelves that makes the surprisingly accurate claim: Easily distracted by dragons and books. The rest of her wardrobe is the usual sweatpants and god-know-how-many-pairs of socks.

“I’m glad to see you working so diligently, love.”

She leans her head back. “I’ll hit my fifty thousand words, which is good. The worst part is knowing I won’t be done with the story by the end of the month.”

“When has that ever stopped you?” As soon as I said it, a handful of occasions came to mind. “Don’t answer that.”

“Normally I would just keep going until I got to the end of the story. That’s usually another couple weeks,” she says. “This year I have another book to work on. I need to turn it in by the end of March for my writing certificate.”

“Ah, but do you?” I ask, well aware why her writing teacher gave her a specific deadline. Writers like deadlines. It helps them actually finish a project. At least it helps my writer.

“Yes. I’m going to try, anyway. I told my writing teacher I could do it.”

I know she’ll make sure she has her assignment done to turn in by the end of March. She’s gone through two revisions already, so the next one should be easier in a lot of ways. Plot issues have been ironed out by now.

“What about this project, love?” I ask. “You’ve made a lot of progress. And you learned you can make a go of writing scenes without going from the beginning of the story to the end chronologically.”

“This story works well that way,” she says.

“I’m sure the technique will work for other stories.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “Maybe. It works with the dual timelines because the story isn’t told in one long pass. It switches between the past and the present. I’m not sure how that would work with other stories.”

I cross the office to sit in the other recliner. “Think about it. Besides, what is a story? It’s a series of scenes, right?”

“Yes,” she says, “but there are transitions … Which I have to write anyway no matter what technique I use.”

“Bottom line, love, do what works for you for the story. You know I’m always here to help.”

“Not just to loom and give me dirty looks?”

“Har, har.” Though I haven’t had to “loom” for the past few months. I even packed away my fedora and bullwhip. I haven’t had to go full “Indiana Jones” on her for, wow, a long time. Not that I haven’t come close. Sometimes it works for her, sometimes it doesn’t. I have a grumpy dragon I can call on to help when she gets really stubborn.

“I’m here to inspire and encourage you, love. Now, get back to work.”

She sighs, but gets back to writing.

One more week of NaNo. It’s been a good month, but I think I’m going to have to give E a call. I’ll be ready for a pub crawl when this is over. We’ll go Down Under, though. Their pubs will be open. The ones here in the States will likely be closed by then. Besides, I haven’t been home in a while. It’ll be nice break.

Keep writing!


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NaNo Week 2 –keeping up with quotas #nanowrimo #amwriting

Quotas. I suppose it keeps writers on track toward a particular word count goal, but a total word count has nothing to do with how complete a manuscript is.

“Hey, are you really putting those pictures in my post?” my writer asks from her recliner in the corner of her writing office.

Image by Thomas B. from Pixabay

“Are you really going to keep writing today, love?”

“Do I get wine and chocolate if I do?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Do you get wine and chocolate whenever you hit your daily word quota?”

“I get chocolate.”

“You get chocolate anyway because of the pandemic, right?”

“You’re such a spoil-sport. You know what would really be good incentive? The good chocolate. I mean, the really good chocolate, not just the Dove Dark Chocolate and Sea Salt Caramel chocolate. And Moon Man.”

Beer over wine? I suppose, considering she doesn’t spring for the good wine unless it’s an occasion, like her book release or three days alone with her writing. “Get to the end first, love.”

“You’re supposed to show me the prize and then tell me to go for it.”

I lean back in the desk chair. She’s got the foot-rest out on the recliner on the other side of the office, fuzzy slippers, sweatpants–not that she wears anything else while working from home, and her NaNoWriMo sweatshirt. Her hair’s gotten longer, and she substitutes herbal tea these days for coffee in the afternoon.

Cute. In a stay-at-home-while-writing kind of way.

“Admit it. I’m adorable.”

I stare at her until she raises an eyebrow and focuses on her laptop again. I won’t admit it.

Not to her, anyway. She’d bring that up as often as possible, especially when she’s struggling to write, as if it would distract me.

. . . . . . . .

Where was I? Oh, yes, my writer and NaNo. I have to admit I’m impressed with her dedication. She has been hitting the daily quota, but not her quota. Good enough, I guess, though I know she can do better. Has done better in the past.

Now, if she can finish most of the story in the next two weeks, it would be a major accomplishment.

“Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence,” she quips from across the office. “Nice to know my Muse is such a wellspring of reassurance.”

“You know I’m right, love. How many times in the past 15 years with over 15 NaNo sessions, both November and other times, have you actually gotten to the end of the story in 30 days?”

She frowns at me. “Twice. Maybe. But I usually finish two weeks after NaNo ends.”

True enough. “Back to writing, love. I’ll see what I can do about your lager.”

“Make sure you wear a mask, even if you can’t get COVID. At least don’t bring it back to me.”


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NaNoWriMo Eve, aka Halloween #nanowrimo #amrevising

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

Hey, all! Just a quick post because I’m frantically working on my revisions. Almost forgot about Halloween. It’s my daughter’s fave holiday. Me, never got overly excited about it, except that first year my son was old enough to go trick-or-treating. Damn, that was a long time ago!

*shuffle, bang, tussle*

“Hey!”

My Muse points to the recliner in the corner. “Revision, love.”

“But …”

His blue eyes narrow. “Don’t argue.”

Grumble. “Fine. I was going to do that right after I finish this post.”

His brow arches. “I will finish the post. You go write.”

I ponder another cup of coffee. Really. No, I am not admiring his burgundy henley with sleeves shoved to his elbows or his pajama pants complete with Jack o’lanterns and black cats on them. Okay, maybe I am admiring them a little. And his feet are bare. Is that scruff on his face? What was I going to do again?

“Over. There. Revise.” He gives me a little shove toward the corner recliners.

Oh, yeah. Revise.

My lovely writer plops into a recliner and swings out the footrest. About damn time. If she has her shit together, she can finish her revisions today. Tomorrow, all bets are off. I’ve been through this dance before with her. So many times.

Some years, she’s on top of things. This year? I have to give her credit. She’s giving it a good go despite being her Sisters in Crime chapter’s NaNo liason on top of her usual attempt at being a good little writer.

“I heard that!”

“Revise, love. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“You bringing my coffee, too?”

Sigh. I have a writer to wrangle. Those of you who are joining my writer for this year’s 50k-thousand-words-in-30-days marathon, good luck!

Here’s a useful Muse tip (at least it works with my writer): Save the good chocolate for your reward when you hit your daily word count. It really works as incentive.

Why are you looking at me? Get writing!


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The timing of the Muse #amwriting #amrevising #amreading

Image by Valiphotos from Pixabay

I kick back in a recliner in my writing office and scroll through Facebook to see all the awesome autumn pictures. I am really missing the trees on my commute; friends have been posting pictures of their trees. Gorgeous! Ours turn yellow, and not even that pretty yellow like the birches. More like a tired yellow. Besides, with all the other ugly news everywhere, I find solace in landscape photos.

“What are you doing, love?” My Muse looms over me, hands on hips. “We agreed, no Facebook during writing time.” He rolls up the sleeves of his red and black flannel shirt, a white T-shirt underneath. His worn-well jeans carry the outdoor rogue image down to his hiking boots. He even has some scruff.

Whoa. There’s more than one reason autumn is my favorite season. Flannel and denim are made for the woods in the fall. I should probably not page through the men’s section of the next LL Bean catalog I get. Definitely getting warm in here. “Little distracting there, aren’t you?”

Facebook is distracting. Hell, the entire internet is distracting for you. Turn it off.”

I close Facebook, the time-suck of all time-sucks, which leaves me plenty of time to enjoy the local scenery instead of writing. Focus. “You need to go rake some leaves or something. Chop some wood.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Seriously, love? I am not leaving you unsupervised. You have a revision to work on, and an empty nest for the whole weekend.”

Which reminds me. I was walking down the driveway the other day and a story light bulb went off in my head. Actually, more like a flash bulb (not to be confused with a flash mob). “What’s with the brainstorm the other day? Why didn’t you suggest that two months ago? I could have added that during my first round of revision.”

“You weren’t ready for it two months ago.” He heads to my wall-sized white board and picks up a marker. “You have three weeks to work this revision, love. Then NaNo.” He makes a list, which I can’t read because he’s in the way. Yep, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

“That’s the plan.”

He turns, narrows his eyes. “Here’s a thought. Try sticking to the plan this time.”

“What makes you think I won’t stick to the plan? I always stick to my NaNo plan.”

“I’m not talking about NaNo. You have some pretty optimistic plans for the rest of the year after NaNo.”

“I’ll be working from home until who knows when. It’s not like I have to drive to work and back, and hello, winter in Minne-snow-ta.”

“Uh huh.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “How’s that been working for you?”

“Hey, all I need to do is tweak the timeline in that book.” And up the threat to the MC, and write a few more vignettes, and run through another round of revision. It’s my police procedural, which I thought was finished, until I reread it after a year. Uff-da.

“You have a deadline for Book 2.”

Um, sort of. Actually, yeah. Remember that writing certificate I’m working on? My writing teacher suggested the end of March for a deadline. Doable. Definitely doable. Except–

“You are going to have to choose between Book 2 and the procedural, love.”

“I know, I know.” I suggested to my agent that I would be ready to submit the procedural by the end of the year. I think I forgot NaNo in that timeline. “Book 2.”

He lines something out on the board and adds to the list before he returns the marker to the little shelf. “Good. Let’s get to work.”

And bonus: my son just texted me and said he’s thinking about coming home this weekend with the kitties. Yay! I mean, I love seeing my son, and the kitties are a nice bonus.

Oh, hell, who am I kidding? I want to see the kitties 😀 😀

Get out there and enjoy the colors before everything turns that boring shade of brown that lasts until spring. And keep writing!