Agonies of a Young Author

Today, let's talk fun things.

Namely: fiction, and tricking Madam Mocking Muse.

Sometimes when you get going on that recent burst of inspiration, the smallest thing can snap you abruptly out of you creativity. Any hesitation over that small detail not readily to hand, and poof! All gone.

So when I write, I trick the Muse.

I don't write.

Actually, what I mean is that I don't write down what's bothering me, and skip over it to continue with the next word. If you are confused, don't worry. Let's use some practical illustrations. This is a excerpt from my newest W.I.P. (work-in-progress) a Regency novella tentatively titled "Admit Nothing":

...but in the country where eligible single men only dot the landscape like (----------), one had to do with what one had. 

See the dashes? See the big gaping hole where the rest of my metaphor should exist? Yes, see it? See it? 

Yeah, that's been my biggest pet peeve for the past week and a half. HOWEVER, while I may be hung up on the wording NOW, the first time I started furiously scribbling, I left the dashes and just continued. And I got an additional four pages after this paragraph, all because I didn't stop to ponder what specific word I need. If I had, I would have lost my train of creation (that's a good one, can I copyright that?) and I would have been stuck with only four lines and a great deal of frustration. 

Let's see another example: 


He continued. "Mother wishes to remind you of our dinner on Thursday. Pray watch your tongue this time. She was rather horrified at your talk of - of ---"

"(---------)," I said.

Lorimer stared at me for a few moments. "Yes. Those."

I opened my mouth to ... well, I'm not sure what I hoped to say, but instead I gently shut it again. What was there to say? Proper Young Ladies did not have an interest in (--------). Mrs. Paddingtow was hardly the first to notice my eccentricities,but she was certainly Society's staunchest voice reminding me of them.

I have reached that enviable yet unwanted position of being maxxed out-- in more ways than one.

I have sent out ALL of my completed poetry. EVERYTHING is in submission. It's all gone, waiting, in the ethos for some editor to pronounce judgment on it's poor, terrified, paperless soul.

In addition, I only have one story left in reserve and one in the shop for repairs, so I have really have nothing else to send out in the meantime. Which means...

I HAVE TO CREATE.

Like I said, it's enviable but unwanted, because now if I want to advance my career, I have to beat the Muse into a docile manner, turn her into a factory worker, and just churn out the submissions.

We both know how the Muse likes that one. She's okay with dress-up, but long term gigs are not her thing. So she's in revolt, and I have to play unwilling taskmaster. So we're both knuckling down.

Anyways, I'm off to find writing prompts and specific contests. Even if I have no inspiration at the moment, doesn't mean I can't write.

Cheerio!

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: quiet. I like the quiet sometimes too.
What I want most: coffeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

I've been missing fiction.

It's been quite a while since I sat down to write fiction, probably not since early December (and it was a class assignment, so while I had fun, I was still in a way constrained. So maybe it doesn't count in the first place). I find that I am missing fiction.

I enjoy poetry, I really do. I'm happy that I'm really building up my portfolio and my resumme with all the poetry that I'm writing and sending out. But...

Poetry is also distilled. Very, very distilled language. And sometimes you need a little bit of wiggle room, you know?

The other night I was ready to crash at 10:30 pm. I even, heaven forbid, went so far as to turn off the lights and pull the covers up and snuggle into my pillow.

Madame Mocking Muse halted all that.

She came, as my eyes were drifting shut and my mind gently becoming fuzzier with a full story- WHAM!

I was bright-eyed and scribbling furiously with a pen clenched in my hand and a flashlight clenched in between my teeth. My roommate, the Long-Suffering One, laughed deriously at me for having "been exhausted just a minute ago." I'm afraid I might have ignored her, for I was writing fiction.

A short story, in full Sherwood Anderson style (perhaps because I had an essay on Anderson due mere hours later, and my brain, no longer willing to deal with Anderson academically, decided to exocise him through another means). It's very obviously Sherwood Anderson's voice- I do not tend towards minimalist style. I like my clasues too much (if you, perhaps, had not already gleaned that for yourself).

I'm thinking of finishing it up over spring break and submitting it to the campus magazine. I'm tired of submitting poetry, and would like a short story published someday soon.

Here's to crossed fingers!

Right now:
What I'm listening to: "Move for You" by Metric
What I want most: food!!! om nom nom.

Oh, midterms. How I love to loathe you.

Thankfully, I didn't have a heavy midterm schedule, and my one test is over now. No thanks to Madame Mocking Muse popping up at the most inopportune moments.

Moments when I'm finally really focused on studying, and reading deeply for all possible nuances, and she appears, taps me on the shoulder, and whispers "That'd be a great story."

Me: The sentence says "One insight provided by studies of verbal repertoires is that speakers with fewer codes at their command are both socially and verbally limited in their interactions with others." How exactly is that interesting? At all?
Madame Muse: Make it a metaphor. Explore the power of language. Combine it with a rags to riches theme. See how being literary can make you a successful member of society... or not.
Me: Oh.
(pause)
Me: Huh. That is interesting.
Madame Muse: Yessssss.
(pause; one hand inches out for a blank piece of page)
Me: No! Go away! I have to study!
(furious scribbling, pages turning and flashcards flashing, highlighters squeaking in protest and pens groaning under the abuse.)
Madame Muse: (tap, tap) That'd make a good story...
Me: ARGH!!!

Sometimes, I really love being an English and anthropology double major. Other times, they complement each other scarily well.

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: "We are Golden" by Mika
What I want most: SLEEP!!!!!!!!

I have never had a harder time pinning down a character in my life.

I sit down to write a scene- fine. My character comes out perfectly clear. I sit down to fill a character info sheet, one for class no less, and static. The scenario is a little like this:

Name?
Me: ... uh, her nickname is [retracted].
Hair Color?
Me: 0_0
Eye Color:
Me: Zomg.
Relationship with father?
Me: Does she have a father? (*fail*)

Also, get this. I can't picture the mother in this story-- so I have to go to the internet and print out a picture of some actress.

I hate relying on a picture. It limits me. I get stuck imagining the character with certain expressions and gestures, when that doesn't necessarily fit their personality. Argh.

And this stupid character bio is due tomorrow, isn't it? Oh, yes, yes it is.

It's gonna be a long night yo.

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: The Corrs "Spencil Hill"
What I want most: my Muse to kick in or something. Actress photos! Argh...