I just don't get my Muse. She settles down for months to meditate on her navel and say "Not now dear" if I try to do anything creative, and then suddenly, completely out of the blue, starts shouting at me; "Get up off your lazy a&&e, fat girl! Get with it! - we've got work to do!" Two things seem to have galvanised her this time. One was the fact that in my frustration at an unfinished story that simply wouldn't come, I had set out to draft a synopsis, to try and work out if the problem lay with some unresolved narrative issues I hadn't faced up to. This has been a revelatory exercise in the past, so was well worth a try - but on this occasion it simply served to show me I really did know exactly where this story was going. The second thing seems to have been the jolt of adrenaline I got from walking into William Houston outside the health food shop.
I have been writing hard for the last two evenings, and cannot wait to get home and get on with some more. I am even slightly wishing I wasn't going out tomorrow and Friday evenings, because I can't take the laptop and will have to make do with mere paper if I am to write while I'm sitting on the tube, and during the interval...
It is exhilarating when the creative fire is flowing like this. But I do sometimes wish I could control the Muse a bit more. Anyway, I owe Mr Houston a happy thank you, since his appearance on the scene seems to have given her a kick up the backside, just when I was starting to worry she had settled into hibernation.
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