The muses have the worst sense of timing.
About a week ago, while I was taking a shower, the first paragraph of a story popped into my head. Just the first paragraph. Not even the main character's name. Just one paragraph that left me with all kinds of questions:
Who are you talking to?
Who are you?
Why are you dead?
If you're dead, why are you talking to someone?
And why are you talking to that person in MY HEAD?
OK, so I know the answer to that last one - I'm a writer, therefor characters frequently talk to each other in my head. Usually they are polite enough to wait until I get out of the shower, but that's another mater.
In this case I quickly finished my shower and dried off - telling Sweetie all about it - and went straight to the computer to write down what little I knew. Ok I typed that one paragraph and waited for more to fill in some of the blanks. Nothing came, just that one paragraph.
I went to bed and when I woke up I at least knew who the character was talking to, even if I didn't know who the character was. So I opened the file again and typed that in there and waited again. Nothing more came.
And darn, because I was still on Spring break last week, I actually had time to write. I spent a lot of time last week staring at computer screens and blank paper waiting for details about this character to sift through my brain. Not much came. I did eventually learn that the character was a young woman, she was talking to her Goddess of Restitution and Resurections and that she had been dead for a while. Not much to go on really. Not even a world to set her in, a name to call her.
Then Sunday happened. (I didn't know I could do that much in one day and still wake up the next morning). The last event on Sunday was a full moon ritual with CUUPS. A nice small ritual to meditate on successes and triumphs. Everything was going fine until we got to the part about meditating.
Sudenly I knew everything. I knew why my character had died, and what she had been up to since then. I knew what world she lived on. I knew the pantheon she worshipped. I knew why she was telling her story. I knew it all, suddenly and fully and I was in the middle of ritual and couldn't go running for my note book.
Immediately after the ritual I snatched up Sweetie's notebook (mine was at home) and found a corner and started scratching out the story. People were cleaning up around me - I felt a little guilty about not helping them, but I had a story to write. I think I heard Sweetie explaining it to someone. I wrote and wrote and moved out of the way and wrote some more.
Now school is starting up again and I don't have time to devote to wrting anymore, but there's a story in my head that wants to get out.
The muses have the worst sense of timing.
Posted by Becca at April 5, 2004 10:07 PM