When I began writing this post today, I realized just what
a bossy Muse I have. She (and yes, my
Muse is definitely a “she” even though she sometimes speaks in a decidedly male
voice) has all the patience of a two-year-old on a sugar high. She takes no excuses, accepts no delays,
wants everything NOW, and will scream at me if I don’t listen.
Sometimes, darn it, I just can’t listen. I try to tell her this. “I have a life,” I say.She replies, “I don’t want to hear it. Listen to this idea!” She begins to jump up and down. “Listen, listen, LISTEN!”
And yes, like any weary-worn mother I do stop whatever I’m
doing and listen, because, after all I really do love her and she always has
such very good ideas. The trouble is she
all too frequently rolls them out when I’m busy doing something else – shopping
or driving to work, preparing dinner or (sadly, far less frequently) doing
housework. And once she shares the germ
of an idea, I’m infected and can’t think about anything else.
I’ve had the outlines for complete novels descend upon me
while I’m scrubbing the bathtub. I’ve
had entire plots blossom in my mind while I’m folding laundry. My Muse has spat out pages of conversations
between characters at me when I’m supposed to be straightening a closet.
And that brings up another peculiarity of the writer’s life:
people talking in my head. Usually, when
folks admit they hear voices, those around them grow concerned. They exchange questioning glances and mention
terms like “over work”, “counseling” and even “mental breakdown”. They tend to think steps should be
taken. But for a writer, having people
talking, posing and even acting out complex scenes in her head is standard
operating procedure.
Once one of my stories is well and truly launched and
sailing on the seas of creativity, it takes on a life of its own. The characters cease to be entirely imaginary
and – if things are really going well – assume control of their lives. They make their own choices, disastrous and
otherwise, act out scenes regardless of whether or not I’m in a position to
observe them, and carry on conversations even when it’s impossible for me to
write them down. It’s truly maddening,
because at that point I don’t want to miss anything. It makes me wish I could just sit like someone
visited upon by the phenomenon of automatic writing and scribble it all down. But as I’ve told my Muse, I have a life.
So what’s a writer with a bossy Muse and self-absorbed
mental tenants to do? Well, I’ve been
known to scrawl plot twists and conversations on the backs of receipts in the
car, and I routinely struggle to remember what happens next till I can get
somewhere and jot it down. Crazy? Yes.
Enjoyable? Oh, so much! And I wouldn’t want it any other way. That’s why I know I need to listen to the
bratty two-year-old no matter how mad her ideas seem, just as I did when she
talked me into writing about the brave and adventurous descendants of Robin
Hood. The rest, as they say, is history.
When Gareth de Vavasour, nephew of the Sheriff of
Nottingham, is captured by the outlaws of Sherwood Forest and held for ransom,
he knows he will be fortunate to escape with his life. Amid the magic and danger that surround him,
he soon realizes his true peril lies in the beautiful dark eyes of Linnet, the
Saxon healer sent to tend his wounds.
Granddaughter of Robin Hood, Linnet has always known she is
destined to become a guardian of Sherwood Forest, along with her sister and a
close childhood companion. She believes
her life well settled until the arrival of Gareth. Then all her loyalties are
tested even as her heart is forced to choose between love and the ties of duty,
while Sherwood declares its own champion.
Author web page: www.laurastricklandbooks.com
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