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.

Harlequin.

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.

My Name Is Celina Summers...

...and I am a writerholic. I have been a writerholic for three years. I am not currently undergoing treatment for my writerholism because I have editing to do and revisions due soon. My problem is that I always want to be writing.

Not editing.

Not rewriting.

Writing.

Normally, this is not a problem. After all, I've still got lots of space on my hard drive. But in a co-writing project, it becomes a problem. While I still had Deception in process, it wasn't so bad. I could balance my writing time between the two projects and keep my impulses under control.

But now? Now it's a horror! The muses have taken over. I sat down to write a little scene and discovered I'd written three new subplots (without discussing them with my partner) and FOUR full length chapters. FOUR. I thought I'd only been writing for an hour.

I'd been writing for eight.

Obviously, I can't use any of what I wrote. I have to work with Rob, and we've been very good about making sure that we pace our way through our plot step by step. I mean, when we were writing Breaking the Covenants, it worked perfectly. But that's because I was BUSY. I was overwhelmed with work. I could control my obsessive compulsive creative impulses. But now I'm at a loss. I don't know what to do. I have to be fair to Rob so--

--I deleted everything I wrote today. It was only fair. Now in order to make things right, I need to come up with an entirely new project to start on and start on quickly! I need to have another writing project to focus on so that the energy of my hyperactive Muses can be channeled into another story.

I just need to think of one.

Who ever heard of a writer whose problem was writing TOO much? I've got to be the craziest person on the planet. Oh well. Time to dig through my character files and the worlds I've built and see if I can't put together something to keep me occupied. Should be interesting to see what I come up with if nothing else.

My name is Celina Summers, and I am a writerholic. So sue me.

The Muse Beckons Again

I'm back.

It's time for me to snap out of the real world and back into my own quiet, sheltered, dear little space where I am at one with the universes in my mind. I've spent the last month dealing with the sorts of things that stifle creativity, only to wake up the day before yesterday to discover my muse: well-rested, impatient to begin, she sat on the edge of the bed and swung her foot irritably until I got out of bed and went to my study.

And for the first time in months, I locked the door. This is the universal signal of "Mom is busy; don't knock until you've lost two pints of blood."

I have missed my divinity, my absolute omnipotence over the worlds that drift through my study. I have five of them pinned to my walls at the moment.

Asphodel: huge, still-growing, and vibrant. Asphodel beckons me, compels me. It seems that she still has stories to tell.

The darkworlds and dreamworlds of Darkshifters: nebulous, sinister, twining around my head as I stare at the infinity I tried to encompass there. It screams at me, demands that I complete its tales.

Terella: bound and captive, clustered at my knees. Still in its infancy, pleading with me to help it take its first steps into fulfillment.

And then, there are the other two. These embryos develop daily--a little here, a little there, and now I can see the twisted paths they follow. Their lives are still uncertain, clamoring for my attention away from the worlds that have enslaved me for years.

I find myself breathless at the prospects before me. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff just before you make the jump, wondering if the bungee cord will break under your weight. The adrenaline is amazing. The anticipation is agonizing. Even now, I sit outside on my deck as night descends over the hills that cluster along the horizon and I hear the muse calling me impatiently.

It is time to begin.