Tuesday, April 07, 2009

When the Muse Calls...

...I suppose I have to answer.

I hadn't intended to start writing again until after the first Covenants book was released. Between the wedding and edits and book releases, my plate is fairly full. But today, the muse got angry.

She screamed.

She threw things.

She drank all the beer in the fridge.

Then she informed me, in no uncertain terms, that I was going to by God start writing on a companion piece to Deception Enters Stage Left and that the topic was not open for discussion. Yeah, I know. I'm stupid but I can't help myself. Last night, during the daily struggle to go to sleep at a respectable time, I got this image in my head. I was about half-asleep and I mumbled to the husband to just remind me at some point today about one word.


It was almost the first thing he said to me today and my muse has been having a fit ever since. While I was doing wedding stuff, I was thinking about harlequins. Promo work? Harlequins. Business stuff? Harlequins. Everywhere I've turned today, there's something that reminds me of Harlequins.

(No, not the romance book publisher, dangit! A real, honest-to-goodness Commedia dell'Arte harlequin with red, blue and green triangular patterns on his clothes and a black mask carrying a slapstick. THAT harlequin.)

So finally, I just gave up. I've been writing non-stop since I finished my to-do list and it's all been about--you guessed it!--the harlequin.

Bet you can't guess what the working title is.

At any rate, either I've written my muse into quiescence or she passed out from her Rolling Rock and Killian's binge because now she's curled up in a ball on the couch with a whole mess of slumbering felines. So while she's asleep, I thought I'd share my new obsession with you.

Dream of harlequins. Sleep tight.


A. Grey said...

I know EXACTLY what you're saying. Exactly. Although I'm only just now awaiting the publication of my first piece, a short story, there isn't anything I understand better than an angry muse. People are always asking me why a young woman like me hasn't settled down, or at least started dating.
The muse won't let me. She's won't have any of it. She even goes toe to toe with the horses sometimes, but seeing as they outweigh her by quiet a margin, she hasn't been able to keep me from attending them, yet.
When the muse calls, I'll write until I'm physically unable to write any more. And even then, more often than not, I awake with a partially filled page of drool-smeered writing and shivering hash marks under my cheek. Funny how easily pen ink will transfer to skin when you get drool on it, but soap and water won't budge it from your forehead...

Celina Summers said...

LOL--I think the muse continuously tattooes things onto my brain. She's not content if I don't have thirteen different projects in various stages of completion going on at the same time.