Who’s my muse talking to? Oh that would be me. If we never try to experiment we won’t learn what we love, hate, what we’re good or bad at and we definitely wouldn’t learn from our mistakes. I’m talking about writing and not drugs, sex and other aspects of life, like food.
I found myself in an emotionally bad place the other day and decided it would be a good time to start a journal. Only one problem. After I wrote the first word—one word—a character by the name of Dahlia stepped all over my brain and demanded that this story is her story and to hell with what I was planning. By the time I wrote the second line, the story was hers.
Maybe there was some stupid muse high on authority, maybe even drunk, insisting that I push myself to the limit and write the story in present tense.
ARE YOU NUTS?
Now who’s been experimenting with drugs?
Okay, so I caved. I wasn’t in a mood to fight. I was in a dark place and so was my character Dahlia. Actually she’s in the boot of a car. So the muse stamped her higher authoritarian feet all over my imagination and creative side of the brain.
I suppose I should be grateful. I was thinking about the story with all my concentration and I forgot about all the other stuff that was hindering the creative process.
Just when I thought the muse had collapsed on her bed with a hangover, she stuck her two cents in again.
@#$%& BLEEP BLEEP!! @#$%
That’s it. I’m going to imagine one of my kids (when they were younger) banging on pots and pans for the next twelve hours.
The muse is amused.
Did I resist? Heck no.
It actually sounded like a good idea. After I calmed down that is.
So doing something completely opposite was actually not only nerve wrecking, I mean nerve wracking, but I did have some fun doing it.
Now for the scary part of being a writer—workshopping.
But the muse hasn’t finished with me yet …
Mused infused and definitely abused,