Forty Bunnies and an Acre

I’m having an interesting morning.  I took something to help me sleep last night, and I’m either having a bit of a hangover from the residue in my bloodstream, or I’m suffering a psychotic break.  Or, hey, why not both?  Today could be a great start for the weekend, right?

What’s on my mind, then?  Besides a spinning head–

Plot Bunnies.

Someone asked me about plot bunnies last night.  I’d mentioned in yesterday’s post that I didn’t have them, that I chased them away because they were always eating my carrots, or digging in the yard, or something like that.  They can make a mess of things, because rabbits are rabbits.  And you know what they do best . . .

Now, don’t get me wrong:  I love rabbits.  Back at The Real Home, we’ve had a our share of visiting bunnies.  I’ve guarded rabbit’s nests that showed up in the middle of the night.  One year, we had three bunches of baby bunnies burrowing upon our property at one time, and I did my best to make certain the grass remained undisturbed until they were gone.  We have seen rabbits lying on our lawn, enjoying the cool morning air.  And my daughter is a Rabbit in the Chinese horoscope, so I have additional reason to keep rabbits happy.

But plot bunnies . . . naw.  Kick them outside, because they’re more trouble than what they’re worth.

The Urban Dictionary says a plot bunny is an idea that keeps gnawing at your brain until you write the story.  Other sites say they’ll give you an idea that will make you write, then multiply and run off in different directions, making your story go every which way but the way you want it to go.  And as the picture to the right shows, no matter how may carrots you offer the little fella, they’re just going to flip you off, because they don’t feel like being your monkey.

I’m not a great believer in plot bunnies.  I’m one of those people who needs to know where they’re going to end up before they strike out on a journey.  I know, it’s suppose to be an adventure, and others have told me that part of the excitement of writing is not knowing where their story is going.

Sure, that’s exciting–until you come upon the literary equivalent of a hostile border guard who says your papers aren’t in order, and they’re about to toss you under a local jail until you come up with $5000 in the local currency–all for the “Customs Guard’s Fund”, you understand.

That’s when you start seeing the calls for help, the requests for assistance because their story has done gone crazy on them, and the writer doesn’t know what they hell they should do next.

I wouldn’t say the dream I’ve had is a plot bunny.  No, they stay away from me.  They would rather stay off my property and let me figure things out on my own, because that’s how I roll.  They do know, however, they can come onto the property and hang out, lay about, and live their little bunny lives–just as long as they don’t tug at my leg while whispering, “Hey, look over here:  this is really cool . . .”

No, keep that to yourself, rabbit.  I’ve got a Muse.  When I need direction, she’s right there, pushing me along.

Or is it more like kicking me down the path I should walk?

I’ll get back to you on that . . .