I woke up exhausted. Yesterday’s workout did a number on me. Sometimes, I forget that my right shoulder and I are a tad crippled. But my rotator cuff howled a red-hot throbbing reminder.
So I gave me and my sore shoulder the day off from writing… and planned to nap for an indecent amount of time. Then, as I was beginning to fall asleep, the Muse whispered in my ear: “The scene doesn’t work because you insist on killing Character X. He must live, Wicked Witch Writer.”
I jumped out of bed—really, my Wicked Luvs, I went from lying down to standing up in one graceful jump (my mind’s eye is quite generous). I powered up my laptop, and wrote for hours…
2,928 words later, a character I almost killed saved my tale. He also showed me that I might be the storyteller, but those who populate the worlds I write into existence are the story-makers.
By the way, I’m pretty sure I’m totally in love with a character I almost murdered. I hope things don’t get too awkward between us. I mean, It’s not like wrote his head off or anything…
Yes, I’m off to bed before this bit of sweet delirium gets out hand. The Muse is already snoring.
|I love when the Muse and I are in a good place.|
I also love this spot in the woods; a lot.