I think my husband has staged an intervention.  Not one of those you see on t.v. where some hapless, drug dependent individual arrives home or to what they think is a surprise birthday party, drug of choice tucked into their tote bag, to find family and friends arrayed around the room looking dire.

It isn’t drugs or alcohol that moved hims to this daring act.  It’s the fact that I’ve gotten myself into a great muddle over this novel I’m writing and I can’t figure out how to get out or go forward or unwind it to a sensible point.  I did after many a false start  manage to kill someone off, get someone else bonked on the head and create a bit of drama around a young woman in a bad relationship but somewhere in there I lost the thread and simply couldn’t go on.  I sat in front of my computer for hours on end, trolled the internet for great plot ideas, watched a few too many reality t.v. shoes on youtube (now that could cause a brain implosion) and finally after a week of this I simply began to finger stomp on my keyboard and let one of the characters loose in an uncharacteristic way.  That at least unstopped the bottle though I don’t know if that scene will stay in the book .  But if it’s not written it can’t be edited … and so on.

One of the reasons why we decided to live abroad this year was R’s feeling that new vistas feed his writing and creativity.  And I’m usually game for an adventure.  This time we’ve carved out would feel wasted if I didn’t force my way to the end of a book so that I could write in good faith – The End.  I’ve started so many stories and left them abandoned in the virtual back drawer of my computer.  I have this feeling that if I complete one – good or not (and I don’t think it’s up to me to even judge at this point) I’ll be able to complete the next one and the next one and so on.  So … even though you sitting in my living room looking grim, ready to help whisk me off to rehab I very much appreciate the encouraging words, virtual hugs of support and willingness to take the time to give me a push toward where I want to go.

Discipline allows magic. To be a writer is to be the very best of assassins. You do not sit down and write every day to force the Muse to show up. You get into the habit of writing every day so that when she shows up, you have the maximum chance of catching her, bashing her on the head, and squeezing every last drop out of that bitch.

Lili St. Crow

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