Biting The Muse

When sitting in front of a semi blank screen at four of the clock in the AM trying to crank out a thousand words or so before my children wake up and demand Pop Tarts or some such thing I think that maybe I am not cut out for this writing thing. I think maybe the muse is a dirty bitch and she really doesn’t like me (because I call her a dirty bitch I’m sure) and wants little to do with my story – and then something wonderful happens. I get hit upside the head with a view of the world I am trying to create.
See, the muse is fickle in me. She comes out at the strangest times and without any warning whatsoever.  I could be on the highway doing 75mph or dead asleep. She gives not a fuck about what I am doing, only that I am not writing when I should be. The question has been (so far anyway) how do I bite onto the muse when she comes around?
Short answer: with whatever teeth I can find. If you have read any of my latest fiction, namely the bit of a larger piece I posted called I am not avoiding you… it is pretty certain that I have been thinking a lot about psychedelics and death, but how will that become a usable storyline? I know that was supposed to be the short answer and not another question but bear with me a moment.
I occurred to me that perhaps the trick was not trying to pigeonhole ideas into categories, to record everything, and share when I can. Maybe someone will be willing to lend an ear, or in this case an eye and a visual word form area of the brain.
I am not going to lie, I spent a lot of time over the last few months feeling sorry for myself. Sorry that I was not a more successful person in work, writing, parenting, you name it I have probably told myself I suck at it. That ship has sailed – instead I am trying to hold myself accountable for good as well as my asshole moves every now and again. The process has been eye-opening. I would like to share it with you.


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