Flippin’ the Script
With writing, I’m often stymied as I await the muses’ participation. These past two weeks, I’ve turned it around on them. Writing steadily, finding the path each morning, I keep the final destination in mind. Quiet and watchful, the muses gather around me. “Where you going with this?” they keep asking.
Chuckling, I tell them, “You’ll have to wait and see.”
It’s nice making them wait to see what happens next. I feel like the novel in progress in almost at an end (draft five). I edit and revise as I write, grinding down the story, molding and shaping it. Not to jinx anything, but I have a good rhythm formed for now, generally writing a bit, then going off, reading, doing housework or other things, then returning to write more, then editing. For now, I’m focused on finishing this draft. In the meanwhile, a solid grasp of what I’m going to do in the next editing stage has crystalized.
It’s been thirteen months since I began writing this one. Writing it required process changes driven by social distancing and coffee shop shutdowns. I used to leave the house, walk to get into the writing mode, then enter a coffee house, sit with my laptop, and do the deed. I’ve had to adjust. That was a surprising challenge. I’m pleased (but anxious) that I could adjust.
Pleased and anxious remains the watch words for writing this. I worry and fret, then tell myself not to worry and fret, just write, but yet, worry and fret, hunting through words, finding my way. It’s surprising to see that I’m at five hundred and ten Word pages, 145K words. I’ve already done some cutting but more is due once the ending is reached.
Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
The Muses Dream
Oh, what a writing dream. It was a dark venue, inside somewhere. Lights were small and focused. I could see myself off to one side with a notebook and pen at a table. I was writing, but the book’s actions were playing out on a stage as I wrote. I appeared to be a giant beside it. What I wrote surprised. I’d been thinking about the novel in progress as I drifted to sleep and scenes that were to come. In the dream, though, things took a sharp turn. Little mischievous creatures took over. Pale white, short and squat, they were sexless, with no eyes and big smiles. Then I realized in the dream, “There are four of them?” I was trying to fit four into the scheme. Awakening, I thought about this, and then discovered I was dreaming about thinking about the dream, experiencing it as a dream in a dream, prompting thoughts of nesting dolls. Another voice announced with a chortle, “That’s the muses having fun.” Then I really awoke, wondering, WTH?
Friday’s Theme Music
Friday! Today is February 19, 2021. Just nine days remain before we put 2021’s second month into the books. Today’s sunrise was at 7:02 AM while sunset will be at 5:48 PM here in southern Oregon. Temperature is 41, which isn’t bad, if you have some sunshine, which we don’t. We do have more rain.
I used to love Fridays, right? Back in the days when you could go places and do things, PC (Pre Coronavirus). Now it’s reduced to another mark on the calendar.
Today’s music came from yesterday’s post-writing walk, trying to put the moments into a box. The song is “I Need to Know” by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers from 1978. I was walking along, wrestling with the next chapter, wondering WTF the muses were. Probably snowed in elsewhere, I told myself, and then imagined them quarantining somewhere. I was basically thinking, “I need to know,” which is, um, what Petty sings.
I was also thinking about a story read yesterday regarding scientists communicating with lucid dreamers. I dream a lot so this fascinated me. While the findings’ basics impressed me, I really wanted to communicate with my muses. They come and go like college students at a party some days, sneaking off in search of other adventures, drinking too much and passing out. Like, hey dudes, where are you?
They returned after a while. I asked, “Where have you been?”
Shrugs. “Places.”
“Doing what?”
“Things.”
“I’ve been expecting you. I’ve been waiting for you?”
“So?” Shrug. “Your prob.”
It all ground to a halt as the muses smirked at me. I think they were stoned, high, or drunk. I’ll give them some coffee. Chocolate works great for luring muses out, too, but I don’t have any. Best that I can offer them is a Lara Bar.
Got the coffee. Time to go try writing like crazy. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get vaccinated. Cheers
The Progress of
The progress of the novel in progress: Arsehold is safely behind my heroes. The outlaw and the recos have an unspoken working truce in place. Selfie, Kitkat, and Cher has joined them on Ted. Today I write Zippers. So sorry Zippers is dead, but the muses called it. It was apparently about the Qiqz. I need to write it to find out.
Yeah, having fun, knock on wood. Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Glimmer
The glimmer of a character
the thread of a tale
fires up yearning
that maybe I won’t fail
another cup of coffee
and time spent offline
trying to hear a story
from people in my mind
Monday – Three Things
- $.49. That was our electric bill for last month (May, 2020, for the calendar impaired): forty-nine cents. To break it down, we used $14.99 worth of electricity, and we were paid $14.50 for our solar panel energy. The rest of the bill wasn’t as good. Twenty-six and change for water. We had a wet June this year, so our water use was about half of what it was for the same time last year, even though we planted a garden this year and skipped it last year. Our utilities (gas is on separate bill), then, were about twenty-seven dollars. The one hundred dollar monthly bill’s remainder, about seventy-two dollars, were taxes and fees. Yeah, it’s a regular rant; I can’t save much on my monthly city bill because most of it is taxes and fees.
- WordPress Editor. I’ve returned to the ‘classic’ WP editor. Didn’t like the new stuff. Found it intrusive, counter-intuitive, and irritating. It was a change I didn’t want. And that’s okay, as I went back to the old way. No one’s rights or safety was threatened by my move back to how it was.
- I can’t keep up. My muses tell me the story too fast for my mind, and waaayyy too fast for my fingers. They don’t tell it in order and they’re always filling in the gaps. I get excited by what they’re telling me and their implications, and jump up to pace off my excitement. It’s a fun road that I follow, that struggle to write.
Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
The Typist
I sit down to write each day with little idea of what’s going to happen. This terrifies me.
Then I read a sentence or two of what I’ve written the day before, sometimes a little more, and the story takes off. In the space of ninety minutes to two hours, I’ll add two to three thousand more words, then stop and edit a little. Few changes are required; the story is coming to me so fully complete, I’m just the typist.
I know where and how the story started and where it’s supposed to be going. I lack all clues about how to get it there. I just followed the muses. They’ve presented this character that I don’t understand. He’s erratic. I know the reasons he’s erratic, as more of his backstory comes to me after I’ve written about him. After I write, I walk away and think, why did he do that? What’s wrong with him? He’s so inconsistent, I worry about it; I want to fix that, and make him consistent. But I suspect that if I attempt to fix him, he’ll just stop and the muses will walk away.
So…I let it ride, accepting my role as typist. The story sometimes entertains me, but more often baffles me. I’m writing mostly to see what happens next.
It’s a weird, odd role, being the typist. I know some writers insist that what I’m describing is complete bullshit, muses and characters don’t just take over.
Yeah, but here I am, with my coffee, about to do it again. It really is writing like crazy. It’s gotten me to seventy-seven pages so far. Guess I’ll just hang on and try to enjoy the ride.
Onward.
Oh, the Hangover
Bit groggy this morning. The muses paid me a no-notice last night. Yeah, bit of a work out.
I’d been workin’ on something yesterday. Testing the waters, feeling the characters, hunting the story. Nothing really working, though. Interruptions, life, etc. Miss the old routine, and not very good at pivoting, it appears. Yeah, working on it, working on it.
Went to close up the doc last night, elevenish. Sat down to read what I’d written. The muses clambered in in their size fifteens, giving directions. This happened. Here’s the concepts. Story arcs. Main character. Yeah, this is good, this is fun, work with this.
Next thing I know, the numbers have moved into the next day. Twelve forty-seven has arrived. I’m cold, my ass is asleep from sitting in a chair, and my body wants to join my ass in sleep.
Good night of writing like crazy, even it it was without a walk and coffee, even if it left me feelin’ groggy this morning cuz I ended up not getting enough sleep. ‘Cause, yeah, it was twelve forty-seven, but, you know, I had to take my time saying good night to the muses.
Hope they come back today. Feel ready for more writing like crazy. Cheers
Thundering In
They thundered in on loud, glittering machines (Harley motorcyles), ostentatious in their efforts to be cool and tough, shattering me with their numbers and volume.
It was the muses, awakened, returned, and energetic.
Six thirty AM, I’d just finished reviewing my dreams and wasn’t ready to get out of bed. I’d stayed up late watching “Ozark” on Netflix. A cat (Tucker, black and white, long-furred) was nestled against me, warm and purring. Yeah, no need to get up.
I began going through my manuscript in my head. I’d finished reading it. It was okay. Satisfactory.
Yeah, satisfactory and okay weren’t what I was looking for, damn it.
So the muses began riding around, revving their engines and hurling ideas at me. Do this, write this, what about this?
No, that’d be a much different book and not the one that this book is. Ah, but what about doing this? Hmmm…that makes sense. It’s attractive. Appealing.
Time to write (well, edit) like crazy, one more time.
But first, I really need coffee.
Michael Seidel, writer 