The Cranky Muse

My Muse has been cranky lately. Apparently she needs more sleep than I've been getting. And she doesn't like deadlines, even the ones I impose upon myself. Her job is to create, not be on time, on demand. Uh, no; that would be my job. And her job is to help me with my job. She doesn't seem to get it.

It takes discipline to be a writer, hard work and planning. She doesn't like any of those qualities either, doesn't understand them. I asked her once if she thought all she was supposed to do was stand around and look like the bored little goddess she is while I rant and rave. She looked at me like I was crazy, which, technically I was at the time. I'd been sick for a month, it was the week before Christmas and I'd just received the edits from my new editor for my very first story. It was not party time at my house, I can tell you.

I've tried placating her with the promise of a mini-vacation, a trip to the day-spa, or some much needed retail therapy after I've turned in this book. Nothing, nada, zip. She knows deep down that I'm already thinking about my next deadline. All she has to do is tempt me with one tiny idea and I won't be able to resist working.That's what I get for trying to fool someone who has been around long enough to know I'm a workaholic.

At least it's a two-way street. She's snickering in my ear right now, teasing me with the solution to a scene problem because I haven't been paying attention to her this morning. Did I mention she was an attention-whore. A cranky, attention-whore. I need more coffee to deal with this and her.

How do you deal with your muse? I've learned not to ignore mine, so it's back to work.

Growling and snarling (I told you I needed more coffee)
Paris