This will be a fun day, I can tell. Going to cook out later, once the soft rains have departed and the sun comes out. But it was 2:30 AM before I found the sweet, sweet embrace of sleep, and I was up about 6:30 AM, so if you can do math that means I’ll be running on empty probably around 3 PM–about the time I need to get my stuff together and return to The Undisclosed Location. Joy, joy, unbridled joy.
It was a late night because I was out, as I do every two weeks. Yesterday was a good day for me. Yes, I was up early as well, and I did a lot of running, but I also took part of some great Japanese food, followed by a return home and some writing.
Always the writing, even when it was tough. I finished the second scene of Chapter 45 of Transporting, and it was, quite frankly, tough. Very tough writing. I was searching for the mood, and it was there, but it didn’t want to come, at least not calmly. I had to work on it, convince the words that they needed to come out and play. They didn’t want to play; they’d seen The Warriors one too many times, and kept ignoring me.
(Allow me to point out: this isn’t writer’s block. This is called, “Getting it right”. I know what I want to write, but I’m looking for the right combination of words that will make each sentence feel the way I would like them to feel.)
I kept at the tunes, because that helps me get the mood. I’ve been jamming on Do You Love Me? by Guster, the last day, because I wanted to hear the song–it got great airplay in Chicago when it first came out–and because I wanted to sing to my Muse. Yes, she was around, but she needed to hear my proclamations of affection for her.
I sang to her as I wrote, particularly the chorus:
I wanna wake you from your dream,
I wanna know just who you’re talking to when your singin’ in your sleep
I wanna find out what it means
Do you love me?
I got marbles in my mouth
Thousand words I wanna say but it’s impossible to spit em out
I can barely make a sound
Do you love me?
So much I want to say to my Muse, but it’s always hard to make those words right. I want to caress her silky locks and wake up next to her, all warm and loving, and allow her to fill me with the inspiration I need to make my writing work not only for her, but for anyone else who looks to be entertained.
Such as my feelings for my Muse that long after the chapter scene was completed–716 of the most difficult words to wring out, yay, me!–I was still singing that chorus on the way to visit my friend. Most of the way down there, and a little on the way back, as I was alone on the highway at 1:45 AM, ripping down back country roads at 70 mph.
My Muse by my side, the windows down, the cool air flowing into the car. It was there: the peacefulness that comes from being alone in the night with nothing but your thoughts, your ideas, your ambitions . . . and most of all, your love.
Yesterday one of my Facebook friends ask that her muse help her, because she was stuck on a scene and wanted to get it done. I suggested putting a gun to her muse’s head and telling her to do her job. I would offer, though, that next time–sing to her. Coax her with your feelings. Use your passion to make her believe in you.
Because that’s what I’ll be doing with mine, later today, when I get into the last scene of Chapter 45, when I get to another scene that I’ve had in my head for 25 years. I’ll need to get to the words oh, so right, because this is it: The Big Event.
I’ll take the memory of last night, and I’ll whisper to my Muse:
I want to find out what it means . . . do you love me?