Tag Archive for: muse

Missing

/in /by


By Evelyn David

My muse has taken a hike – like in the Himalayas.
I’ve lost my MoJo, my ability to create murder and mayhem at will. It’s not
that I can’t think of delightful ways to kill off villains – in real life and
fictionally. But it seems I have misplaced my ability to create a coherent
storyline, one that won’t leave readers scratching their heads and wondering
what the heck happened, if anything.

In my defense, I’ve got lots of good reasons why the muse
went missing. Real life intruded and the poor thing probably felt neglected. No
attention was paid to the tiny bursts of inspiration she’d proffer. “Hey,
how about a story about a neighbor who was an Elvis impersonator. Or “How
about a murder victim who mumbled ‘Camelot’ with his last breath.” But after
I’d ignored enough hints about getting back to work, I suspect my muse headed
off to someone else who would appreciate a clever inspiration of whodunnit. Heck,
she’s probably feasting at Stephen King’s house right this minute – and I don’t
blame her a bit.

The Master of Terror understands. Stephen King once said
that the “scariest moment is always just before you start [writing]. After
that, things can only get better.” But of course, that assumes you can start.
Sue Grafton, mistress of the alphabetic mysteries, was blunt: “I carry a
notebook with me everywhere. But that’s only the first step. Ideas are easy.
It’s the execution of ideas that really separates the sheep from the
goats.”

And Mary Heaton Vorse, activist and journalist, was even
blunter: “The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants
to the seat of the chair.”

So I’m putting out the welcome mat, baking some chocolate
chip cookies (for the muse and me), and following the immortal advice of James
Thurber: “Don’t get it right, just get it written.”

Break’s over; time to get back to work.

Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David

 

—————
 

Evelyn David’s Mysteries 

Audible    iTunes

Audible    iTunes

 

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries– Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah– Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah– Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Good Grief in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Summer Lightning in Lottawatah – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Lottawatah Fireworks – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

The Ghosts of Lottawatah – trade paperback collection of the Brianna e-books
Book 1 – I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries (includes the first four Brianna e-books)
Book 2 – A Haunting in Lottawatah (includes the 5th, 6th, and 7th Brianna e-books)
Book 3 – Lottawatah Fireworks (includes the 8th, 9th, and 10th Brianna e-books)

Sullivan Investigations Mystery series
Murder Off the Books Kindle – Nook – Smashwords – Trade Paperback
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle – Nook – Smashwords – Trade Paperback 
Murder Doubles Back Kindle – Nook – Smashwords – Trade Paperback
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords


Zoned for Murder – stand-alone mystery
Kindle
Nook
Smashwords
Trade Paperback


Romances
Love Lessons – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

They Always Ask: What Comes After THE END?

/in /by

       By Laura Spinella     
It’s itchy palms and a cold sweat, a compulsive urge
that a team of interventionists couldn’t thwart. That’s what I’m down to.  No, don’t be ridiculous, I haven’t quit
drinking. I said compulsive not insane. But what I have done is turn in a
manuscript. It leaves me with time, a gaping hole from 7 a.m. until noon. Initially,
I’m dazzled by the prospect—think cats and a tinfoil ball. By living in the
mainstream I can get things done, big and small.  I’ll chase time until it lodges itself under my sunroom sofa, moving something like this: Instead of
brushing by old newspapers and dirty toilets, I take the papers to the recycle
bin, scrub the toilets until I’ve drowned the Ty-D-Bol man. I make every bed and vacuum the
floor of my closet. Afterward, I’m surprised but only marginally alarmed to
find that morning has two hours left. 
Not a problem. I have a 30%-off Kohl’s coupon. By noon everyone has new
underwear and I have half-a-dozen potential outfits for a trip that’s three months
away.   On day two, dinner is a planned
event.  My usual incidental dash to the microwave
morphs into a Julia Child effort, one that involves béchamel sauce and a 1,000
calorie French dessert.  By day three, my
real jobs are organized as if they
are my goal. Newspaper stories are booked weeks in advance; my editor is dazed
but delighted.  Normally, I’d segue from my
WIP to my cyber-gig needing a shower and wearing pajama pants with a
hole in the crotch. Not now. Now I show up in makeup and clothing that does not
involve an elastic waist. Day four I surprise my son and pop in at track
practice. I bring brownies for the hardworking boys. From across the field, his
head pivots sharply. It’s as if he smells something repugnant in the air. I
wave. He trots steadily in my direction, glancing right at a gaggle of girls
who, apparently, also stopped by to watch.
            “What are you doing here?
Is someone dead?”
            “I had free time. Can’t
a mother watch her son practice?”
            “Seriously, why are you
here? It’s track practice. I’m perfectly safe.”
I assume he’s alluding to his younger years when I tended to hyper-fret
about things like child abduction. I decide it’s still plausible. “You never
know who’s lurking.”
What happens if you’re not careful with your javelin
              “I have
a black-belt in Taekwondo and a javelin in my hand.  Go home; go write something.”  He darts across the field, taking his
position. Only for a moment do I think he’s considering hurling the javelin at
me.
            And this is where dazzle
turns to disaster. I’m not the mom who goes to practice. The thrill of a
three-course meal can only satisfy for so long. I hate shopping and my day jobs
function fine on the fly.  Twenty-four
hours later, I stare at my sunroom writing chair. It’s wrapped in metaphoric
yellow caution tape.  I may not enter; I
have no business there.  There’s a hard
rule about revisiting a manuscript that’s no longer in my possession. I’d only see
a thousand missteps, unable to change anything. Rationally, I should look
forward to this break. Downtime is supposed to be beneficial, an opportunity to
recharge the muse. Well, clearly, my muse is an addict. I sit and write a blog,
thinking it’s a quick fix.  Two paragraphs
in and I find my knee bouncing like a drunk with a Dixie cup. It’s not enough.
This is not to say the muse has anything remotely brilliant to relay. In fact,
it’s the very reason I equate it to an addiction. A wiser person would seek
help. Besides, what would I write?  The
muse has a suggestion.
            “Remember that idea I spun
a year ago? We were driving. Instead of the license plate game we played the what if game.  What if that girl, the one with the crummy
newspaper job and the psychic gift, landed in your lap top?  Come. Sit. You know you want to.”
            “No I don’t. What I want
is for you to quit delivering half-baked ideas, expecting me to fill in the
blanks.”
            “Sorry, if you wanted a thorough
muse your last name should have been Rowling or Roberts. I work with what
they give me.”
            “Do you have any idea
how much time and commitment your ideas take? Someday I’ll regret it, the
endless hours I’ve wasted on you.”
            “And still, you would have
spent more time sleeping. You’re not getting that time back either. So come, sit. Just try it. One sentence, a character
name, the way he looks at her—focus, you’ll see it.  And I haven’t even told you the best part of my
idea.”
            “Ha! I’ve lived your
ideas, holistic designer, rock star, a rogue man on a motorcycle.  They’re absurd.”  Yet, ruefully, I inch into the room.
“Maybe. But the motorcycle man worked out fine. I heard
he’s up for a few nifty awards.  Besides,
what are your options?  Plant a garden,
take up golf, stalk the high school cafeteria?”
“Shut up.” But as I speak, I’m fighting temptation and
gravity.  I move closer.
“That’s it. Ease your way in. We’ll go slow. We’ll talk.
Hell, maybe I’ll even float you some backstory.”
My fingers move past the cautionary yellow tape. The
leather chair does feel good.  It’s only
been a week, but there’s dust is on the keyboard. We can’t have that.  Okay, I’ll sit—but only for a minute…  

Laura Spinella is the author of Beautiful Disaster, a 2012 RITA Finalist, Best First Book; NJRWA Winner, Best First Book; Wisconsin RWA Write Touch Finalist, Best Mainstream Novel; Desert Rose RWA Finalist, Best First Book and a Favorite Book of 2011 at SheKnows.com. Visit her at www.lauraspinella.net
         
            

Stroking the Muse

/in /by

By Laura Spinella

Dear Inner Muse,

It’s been a rough month. The cat died, and those pesky kids, as you refer to them, do require an occasional glance on my part. I know how much you loathe reality writing, (aka cash in exchange for the F-word… freelance writing) but I don’t see much choice in the matter. I understand that you’re currently annoyed with me. But do you think you could ease up and cut me some slack?

It all goes back to that nasty confrontation. You know, when I asked you to get on board flipping THE IT FACTOR, our 114,000 word creation, from an alternating first/third-person narrative to strictly third-person. I appreciated your hesitation: you are in charge. I get it. Since when do I take massive third-party advice and go against the Muse? But, seriously, she is our agent. You’re right, I’ve no idea if she possesses an Inner Muse, but I can tell you that she does have missile-like radar when it comes to what works and what doesn’t. Frankly, I think we’d be idiots not to listen.

I know; I heard your warning, not to mention the persnickety mirth when I explained what we needed to do. Quote: “Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much effort it took to coerce and cajole your sad little prose into a viable story? Most of that book is written in first-person. You might as well start translating War and Peace into Pig Latin, because that’s pretty much what you’re asking.”

If I can say, I think you were overstating just a tad. Granted, it’s not been a breeze. The shift from first to third is a domino effect, changing sentence structure and voice. Simple words that fit in first-person are left lost and out of place when read in third. Of course, matters were further complicated when you suggested kicking the plot up a notch. Don’t deny it; I was there. “Gosh, while we have the thing wide open here, wouldn’t it be great if Isabel’s feelings were less obvious from the beginning? And if Aidan and Anne had a past, well, that would heighten the conflict.” These, dear Muse, were not my ideas but yours. I’m not saying they weren’t good. I’m only asking if we can see our way clear to wrapping things up soon. Like, say, before technology figures out how to imprint books directly onto readers’ brains, thus subjugating the need for printed words. I know nothing as pedestrian as profit interests you, but certainly my take on that format would be about –12 cents a copy. BTW, Muse, did you know there’s no cent sign on this keyboard?

I digress. The bottom line is we’ve been going at it full throttle for weeks. I hear it. I feel it, that same rhythm we had while writing BEAUTIFUL DISASTER. You remember, you tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Hey, I know a guy. He’s got a hell of a story if you’re interested…” We’re doing that again. We’re almost there. So if you could loosen the reins a bit, I’d appreciate it. I fear if this keeps up, one of us won’t make it out alive, and I’d really hate for it to be me.

Your Ardent & Faithful Servant,

Laura Spinella

PS–Love you, Ted! Best cat that ever lived to toss a hairball!

Fingers crossed if you can, BEAUTIFUL DISASTER is a finalist for NJRWA Golden Leaf Contest, winners announced next week! You can always find me on FB  http://www.facebook.com/BeautifulDisasterANovel or at http://www.laurapsinella.net/  Have you read BEAUTIFUL DISASTER yet?

The Muse was there, So was everyone Else!

/in /by

I’ve been working on my next Rocky Bluff P.D. crime novel (still bordering on cozy since I don’t use bad words or have graphic sex scenes) and I’ve been struggling.

I know how it’s going to end, and some of what it’s going to take to get there, but it wasn’t jelling.
Everyone was going to be away on Saturday (we not only have a grown grandson living with us, but my son, wife, granddaughter and her girlfriend live right next door and they all use my computer to access the Internet) and I thought it would be a perfect day to write.

Started out wonderfully. I wrote about two scenes while getting some great ideas for others.

The phone rang. It was my daughter who lives nearby wanting me to order something for her on the Net. (We’re in a lousy area for Internet access. I’ve got a little satellite dish on my roof from my computer company that brings the Internet in.) She came over and I took care of her order. She’s the mom of the new grandchild and we talked awhile about the baby.

She left and I did some more writing. Got another call from a friend who wanted to tell me all about the cruise he went on with his parents, his mom is 70 plus like me, and his big news was she was the first to go on a zip line through the jungle. (Believe me, that’s something I’ll never do.)

He hung up, back to the computer. Another good friend and loyal fan who wanted to sell me tickets to the annual chamber of commerce banquet wanted to stop by. I had a book she loaned me and one to loan her, so I agreed. She came, we visited.

By that time, I’d given up on the writing.

I’d like to say I’m going to get with it tomorrow, but I probably won’t because I got a new mini laptop with wireless access to take with me on trips and I’m going to take it down to my computer place to have them get it set up with the Internet.

I had a friend email me and tell me she’d gotten up at 4 a.m. to start writing. Maybe I’ll do that–or maybe I won’t. Since I’ve been retired it’s awfully nice to stay in bed until I wake up–which is usually about 6:15.

All my notes for the book are stacked beside my computer–I know the muse will get back to me.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com