Posts Tagged ‘whining’

My Muse is a Spoiled Child

I came down to the wire on this one tonight.  Ashley and I went out shopping for – you never saw this coming – Christmas decorations right after dinner (Chicken and Asparagus in a Mushroom Cream Sauce – she did well tonight!)  Anyway, I stumbled back in front of my computer at a quarter to ten with nothing written for the day, and just decided to plow through it,  An hour and a half later, I had another supporting character that I was not counting on, and a plot twist that will easily keep me occupied for the next six or seven thousand words.

I read a huge chunk of Stephen King’s ‘On Writing’ today between calls, which was an adventure given how busy I was at work all day.  I also read some of it during my lunch and breaks, squeezing in a few words wherever I could.  Now, I like Stephen King’s writing, even if I don’t necessarily appreciate all of his stories.  His manipulation of the English language and his easy way of making you relate to his characters is something to be admired.  What I also found interesting was that his ideas about writing seem very much to match my own.  Or rather, mine match his, as I’m sure he came up with it first, and since he’s more than proven his skill with words, it looks better on my part to be the one agreeing with him.

There was a brief surge of despair, mixed with apathy and a tiny bit of internal complaining today.  I had a hard day at work.  I was busy, and I don’t like my job, and it was draining and boring and frustrating all at the same time.  And, at the end of the work day, I was still holding onto a great big goose egg for my daily word count.  I had passed twenty thousand in a single week.  Was I about to let myself crash and burn now?

Turns out, the flesh is willing, but the muse is a cranky, little boy when he doesn’t get his dinner.  All day, I felt out of place, uncomfortable and awkward because I hadn’t been writing, even a bit.

It was fabulous.  I hope that feeling increases over time.  I want to get to a place where writing is like eating, and I can physically feel the discomfort of not doing it.  I think, then, that I’ll be close to feeling legitimate about this.