You may have read several weeks ago that I broke my muse. I’m not really sure what happened. Here I was, finishing up my marketing plan for Destiny Bewitched, getting ready to write the 5th book in my series, minding my own business, being a good citizen, not littering, rarely jaywalking, when my muse suddenly packed up and left.
I waited, thinking it would only be a matter of time until she came back (we’ll call my muse a she for simplicity sake), holding her suitcase, begging for forgiveness. A few weeks later, she was still gone. So I waited longer. Another few weeks went by, no appearance from the elusive bitch. Then I started getting nervous. What the hell was going on? Was my career over after only 5 books? So I did what every American girl would do in such circumstances. I whined. A lot. Then I posted an over-dramatic, fatalistic writer’s suicide note here on this blog.
When that failed to bring her back, I faced the horrifying truth. My muse had deserted me. Unless I wanted to force my way through a book, grimacing and groaning the whole way, my writing career was over.
But, as fate would have it, my amazing friend stepped in and refused to let me give up. She pulled me out of that dark pit of despair, plopped a pen in my hand, and slapped my ass to get me going again.
My muse is still MIA – probably on vacation, sipping Mai Tais on Hawaii’s north shore – but I’m going on without her. My friend, for the time being, has replaced my muse, encouraging me when I need it, pushing me when I don’t want it, telling me I’m awesome when I’m feeling shitty, hounding me for more pages even though I know they suck, and just being a general pain in the ass.
Everyone should be so lucky.