My muses seem drunk today.
Picture this: it’s a party, mostly of strangers, maybe co-workers who’ve never socialized outside of the office. Everyone is subdued, withdrawn and watchful, spying on others from safe corners and walls. Then some alcohol enters the scene. Glasses are filled. Sips are indulged. Alcohol slips into the bloodstreams. All start loosening up and chatting away, becoming livelier.
The latter are my muses today. They’ve had a few. Now they’re giggling and flirting, throwing ideas at me like I’m a dart board, frequently scoring high marks. As the scenes, characters, and ideas hit, I urge them, “Slow down, slow down, I can’t keep up.” That only encourages the tipsy little buggers to offer more at a faster rate, feeding off one another.
Not complaining, just noting. It’s a lot better than those days when the stand statuesque to the sad, cold and contemptuous, offering little other than disdain.
Got my coffee. Time to heed the muses and write like crazy before they pass out.
A friend’s question prompted some post-response thinking as I conducted my pre-writing walk.
Before 2014, I wrote six novels. I never edited or revised them, and never sent them anywhere.
Between 2014 and 2016, I wrote four more novels. Since 2016, I epublished them. None did well. In fairness, I barely marketed them. I still remain fond of Returnee.
Since 2016, I’ve written five more novels. I haven’t published any of them. The first four were the Incomplete States quadrilogy that begins with Four On Kyrios. I shopped them to forty agents or more. None showed interest.
I finished April Showers 1921 last month and began shopping it with agents. Sent it to twenty. Three agents are showing interest by requesting more material.
Last week I began writing another novel. The writing is the thing, you see. The new project has me laughing as the muses pitch crazy new twists on the whole thing. It’s the fun stage. It’s hard to keep up but I’m going to try to enjoy it while I’m on it.
Of course, like ocean waves, it’s not all linear, writing a novel. Ups and downs, setbacks and advances, excitement and frustration are ahead. Each will probably be endured multiple times in the months it takes me to write, edit, and revise this piece. That’s part of the process.
Got my coffee. My ass is in the chair and the computer is on. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
I love starting a new project. I love the energy that comes with a new writing project. Energizing and freeing, it’s like I’m taking on a new life.
Nothing — I mean, writing projects — ever really starts easily for me, but then, if I can find and dislodge the right piece of idea, it all starts crashing down in an avalanche of story and characters. This is my third day of working on my new novel, working title, It Begins. The first two days were sputtering efforts. I’m a pantser, so I’d muddled some concepts, characters, and settings together. I managed about a thousand words on each day, but they were gritty writing sessions, real plodders. In today’s session, I managed to dislodge the right little piece, and the rest crashed in. All I could do was hang on and type fast. After an hour of that, I’d added over fourteen pages and thirty-three hundred words. Then I stopped and created the book’s bible so that I could keep track of everything.
Now, I’m depleted and hungry. Half a cup of cold coffee remains. As usual, writer ass afflicts me, and both buns feel like they’ve gone to sleep. Time to walk, wind down, think about the next piece of story, and find food.
It’s been a good day of writing like crazy.