Dear Finicky Creature of a Muse,
My plans were set.
I’d outlined, as much as a panster does.
I’d dreamed of dialogue and scenes.
And in one weekend, you buggered it all up. Tossing my ideas out the window for a new shiny idea.
Thank you. Thank you so very much.
Except not at all.
Dear Finicky Figment of My Imagination,
While I grasp the difficulties which you face as the muse of a paranormal romance author, I don’t believe you grasp the difficulties I face when at the mercy of your whims.
There is no logical reason to send ideas to me in the middle of the night or while I have shampoo in my hair in the shower.
How about you send the earth shattering plot twists when I’m actually writing?
Just a thought.
A frustrated author.
It never strikes at a convenient time, does it? The muse in charge of new ideas is a fickle creature even on a good day. It never seems to bring inspiration when I really need it.
No, it waits for inconvenient moments when I can’t possible get to a piece of paper and a pen.
I’ve had ideas in the shower or while I’m driving in traffic or when I’m in the middle of cutting up raw chicken for dinner.
Not really moments when I can drop everything to get the elusive nugget of an idea down on paper before it drifts away from me. I think I should invest in very small notebooks that I can wear around my neck.
Or one of those little voice recorders, that wouldn’t work that well in a shower though.
What’s the strangest place that inspiration has ever struck you?