Showing posts with label Muses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Muses. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Amuse Your Muse
Hi and Ahoy and all that jazz, it's your favorite and only pirate ninja aboard the RWR, Sin. Today is a very special day aboard the RWR as we're welcoming on our newest captive- um, I mean crew member- the DRD (as I like to call her), Dead Reckoning Donna! We picked up DRD from her own ship and put her up in her very own spacious dungeon- um, I mean cabin- so that she can help us help you in your quest for all things writing and reading. The very ambitious DRD will be alternating with me every Wednesday. Just think, you only have to put up with two blogs a month of my rambling nonsense. See, some good really does come to bad pirates and wenches. *grin*
With no further ado, please make some ruckus for the DRD and make her feel welcome in her new prison- um, I mean home.
Welcome to the inaugural sailing of DRD Cruise Lines! I'm Dead Reckoning Donna, and I want to warn you, the waters can get a little choppy as we leave port (especially if you try to nickname me "Dead"). So sit back, get comfortable, and hoist your tankard of rum. I'm going to spin you a fantastical tale while we share this three-hour tour.
Each of us has our own source of writing inspiration, something that helps us create and mold our stories, an elusive creature we worship with cult-like devotion.
No, I'm not talking about the Kraken. I am talking about a muse. Or in my case, Muse, capitalized because it's her title, her calling, her raison d'etre, the reason she can be such a pain in the--
My Muse is Endora. (For the young pirates aboard, she's the temperamental mother in the TV show Bewitched. For the rest of you, thank you for your sympathy.)
Endora is the perfect storm of haughtiness, disdain, and tough love. During her unpredictable visits, I count myself lucky when she remembers to call me Donna instead of Durwood. If there is anyone who is more confident of their contrary opinions, I haven't met them yet. She'll bark out a laugh when I startle her with something funny (especially if I didn't MEAN for it to be funny). She'll wrinkle her nose and sniff as if the litter box is overflowing when I've offended her storytelling sensibilities.
She's also incredibly surprised when I create something that amuses her. I live for those rare moments when her heavily penciled eyebrows shoot up with astonished admiration. She's miserly with her praise, as if each encouraging word causes a sharp pain in her soul, but I make her give until it hurts.
She's a witch with a capital B, but I'm driven to please her. And she knows it.
Endora loves her job, but she's also flighty, and fickle, and rather capricious about when she will actually do it. She is incapable of keeping to a regular schedule, so I've quit suggesting it. If I accidentally bore her, there's a snap of fingers and a puff of smoke, and I'm instantly alone, staring at a blinking cursor on the computer screen, wondering how to lure the insufferable wench back.
What I usually do is tap away at the keyboard, resigning myself to the fact that I'm going to have to do this writing thing on my own for a little while. Somehow the mundane task of typing entices Endora. Maybe she's planning to thump me on the head for waking her from her beauty nap. Or maybe she's come to warn me of the hex with my name on it if I don't stop trying to write solo.
I'm never sure WHY this technique brings her back. I doubt she knows either. But it does. The next thing I know, she's looking over my shoulder, snorting with derision, and then I hear a muttered, "I suppose that part's not too horrid." It's hard to tell which of us is the most surprised by her grudging approval.
The tricky part is figuring out WHAT makes Endora happy, because, as with any diva, it's never the same thing twice. If she adores chocolate one day, and the words flow after I've presented her with the most exquisite confections ever made. . .the next time she'll take one bite of the same stuff and spit it out as if I'd given her a clod of dirt. If I take a nap to deal with the heartbreak of her desertion, she plops down next to me, whispering tantalizing plot points in my ear until I am wide awake, frantic to give her my undivided attention again.
Yet, as contrary as the old gal is, I can't imagine what my writing life would be like without her. There's some sort of magic in this partnership of ours, and I've quit trying to figure out the dysfunctional workings of it. Ultimately she seems proud of my efforts, and I like to believe she wouldn't hang around if she didn't get something out of the experience. (I don't want to even contemplate how many other unfortunate writers she torments on her daily rounds. We could probably have an annual convention.)
Mmm, looks like we're returning to port already. *taps watch* Did we finish early? It sure didn't seem like we used the whole three hours. . .
Well, anyway, I want to thank everyone for choosing DRD Cruise Lines today, and I'm really looking forward to future trips with you. I know you're reluctant to leave, but we'll be docking soon, so if you'd like to line up over here--
*ship lists severely to one side*
Careful! Don't everyone try to de-boat at once! You'll tip this thing over!
So, do you have a muse? What is he/she like? How do you keep your muse happy? How does she reward you for your efforts?
With no further ado, please make some ruckus for the DRD and make her feel welcome in her new prison- um, I mean home.
***
Welcome to the inaugural sailing of DRD Cruise Lines! I'm Dead Reckoning Donna, and I want to warn you, the waters can get a little choppy as we leave port (especially if you try to nickname me "Dead"). So sit back, get comfortable, and hoist your tankard of rum. I'm going to spin you a fantastical tale while we share this three-hour tour.
Each of us has our own source of writing inspiration, something that helps us create and mold our stories, an elusive creature we worship with cult-like devotion.
No, I'm not talking about the Kraken. I am talking about a muse. Or in my case, Muse, capitalized because it's her title, her calling, her raison d'etre, the reason she can be such a pain in the--
My Muse is Endora. (For the young pirates aboard, she's the temperamental mother in the TV show Bewitched. For the rest of you, thank you for your sympathy.)
Endora is the perfect storm of haughtiness, disdain, and tough love. During her unpredictable visits, I count myself lucky when she remembers to call me Donna instead of Durwood. If there is anyone who is more confident of their contrary opinions, I haven't met them yet. She'll bark out a laugh when I startle her with something funny (especially if I didn't MEAN for it to be funny). She'll wrinkle her nose and sniff as if the litter box is overflowing when I've offended her storytelling sensibilities.She's also incredibly surprised when I create something that amuses her. I live for those rare moments when her heavily penciled eyebrows shoot up with astonished admiration. She's miserly with her praise, as if each encouraging word causes a sharp pain in her soul, but I make her give until it hurts.
She's a witch with a capital B, but I'm driven to please her. And she knows it.
Endora loves her job, but she's also flighty, and fickle, and rather capricious about when she will actually do it. She is incapable of keeping to a regular schedule, so I've quit suggesting it. If I accidentally bore her, there's a snap of fingers and a puff of smoke, and I'm instantly alone, staring at a blinking cursor on the computer screen, wondering how to lure the insufferable wench back.
What I usually do is tap away at the keyboard, resigning myself to the fact that I'm going to have to do this writing thing on my own for a little while. Somehow the mundane task of typing entices Endora. Maybe she's planning to thump me on the head for waking her from her beauty nap. Or maybe she's come to warn me of the hex with my name on it if I don't stop trying to write solo.
I'm never sure WHY this technique brings her back. I doubt she knows either. But it does. The next thing I know, she's looking over my shoulder, snorting with derision, and then I hear a muttered, "I suppose that part's not too horrid." It's hard to tell which of us is the most surprised by her grudging approval.
The tricky part is figuring out WHAT makes Endora happy, because, as with any diva, it's never the same thing twice. If she adores chocolate one day, and the words flow after I've presented her with the most exquisite confections ever made. . .the next time she'll take one bite of the same stuff and spit it out as if I'd given her a clod of dirt. If I take a nap to deal with the heartbreak of her desertion, she plops down next to me, whispering tantalizing plot points in my ear until I am wide awake, frantic to give her my undivided attention again.
Yet, as contrary as the old gal is, I can't imagine what my writing life would be like without her. There's some sort of magic in this partnership of ours, and I've quit trying to figure out the dysfunctional workings of it. Ultimately she seems proud of my efforts, and I like to believe she wouldn't hang around if she didn't get something out of the experience. (I don't want to even contemplate how many other unfortunate writers she torments on her daily rounds. We could probably have an annual convention.)
Mmm, looks like we're returning to port already. *taps watch* Did we finish early? It sure didn't seem like we used the whole three hours. . .
Well, anyway, I want to thank everyone for choosing DRD Cruise Lines today, and I'm really looking forward to future trips with you. I know you're reluctant to leave, but we'll be docking soon, so if you'd like to line up over here--
*ship lists severely to one side*
Careful! Don't everyone try to de-boat at once! You'll tip this thing over!
So, do you have a muse? What is he/she like? How do you keep your muse happy? How does she reward you for your efforts?
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Put Another Nickel in that Machine
Ever been driving down the road and a song comes on the radio that you find yourself singing to?This happens a lot to me.
Music- for me- is the source of my muse. When I listen to a song, my brain interacts with all these thoughts that I've had going on all day long. Pieces of conversations my characters have been having. Emotions conveyed. Scenes that have yet to happen. Music keeps me fresh, gets my mind right, puts me in the spot. And for my current WIP, nothing has ever been hinged on music as much as this.
Recently, I discovered iTunes. I fully believe that iTunes is a work of the devil specificially targeted towards me. I'm always needing new music and what better way to suck my last dollar than to give me one place that has every type of music I could ever want and no name bands just trying to make a living (which are my favorite) than to give me a program on my computer that is at my beck and call? But I can't complain because the muse has been extremely kind towards me since the discovery of the iTunes store.
I have music that I've always wanted in my writing playlist that I could never find. Music that sings to me. Music with imagery so vivid that my mind goes wild with ideas. It inspires me to write more, write faster and write better and with the combination of coming back from the Spring Fling a different writer, it's just fuel on the fire.
Which brings me to my point. My life revolves around playlists. If I were making a playlist right now (while writing this blog) I'd have Ella, Frank, Rosemary, Dean... All the music I listen to while working. The sounds of the old music soothe me, calm me into a state of euphoria and this allows me to think clearly. If I'm working on my WIP Double Vision, then I have Limp Bizkit, Lacuna Coil, Evanescence, Hurt, Within Temptation... All these songs in my playlist convey my heroine's inner self. It's how I find my voice.
For me, a playlist depicts my mood. A playlist is how I function, much like routines. And a playlist is a routine. It's something familiar. Something that allows you to move from song to song like a calm river flowing downstream. That's what's so great about a playlist, you choose the flow. Like you choose the flow of your writing.Music tells a story when you listen closely. It can be warped in your mind thus fitting the song to any situation. When I listen to a particular song, my mind seems to make up it's own story and weaves it into this new scene that makes its way into my WIP. I need music in order to write. I need that background on to filter my thoughts. I know how strange that makes me sound but my brain never turns itself off, so in order to think, you've got to drown out everything else but that one little nagging voice. Music does this for me. I don't necessarly listen. I do have playlists with music I love, but you could ask me what I've been listening to for the past two hours and I'll tell you background music. Sometimes it doesn't even register with me that music is playing. It's for my characters.I had a point. I always lose my point about halfway through. Point is, no matter if you listen to music or not while writing or reading, do you find yourself honing in on a particular song because it reminds you of your hero/heroine? A book you've just read? Smile to yourself when you think, "This suits them perfectly!"Interpretation is a wonderful thing.
So today's question is, if you listen to music while writing, do you have specific songs you stick with? Do you find yourself switching up playlist as you move into different parts of your plot? Readers, do you need background noise or complete silence when reading a good book? Every think to yourself when you hear a song come on and you're reading that it fits so perfectly to the moment?
So today's question is, if you listen to music while writing, do you have specific songs you stick with? Do you find yourself switching up playlist as you move into different parts of your plot? Readers, do you need background noise or complete silence when reading a good book? Every think to yourself when you hear a song come on and you're reading that it fits so perfectly to the moment?
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
What to do When a Rival Pirate Steals Your Booty. (Or otherwise known as: “How I got my groove back when my muse decided to drink rum.”)
I’m playing off Hellion’s blog of yesterday. So if you’ve procrastinated yourself into a coma, get your bonny ass to yesterday’s blog and read her fabulous blog and catch up!
Writing isn’t always fun and games.
We would all like to think that we sit down to the computer (or pen and paper if you’re real old school) and pump out 80,000 words in a month and submit it to a publisher and voila! you’re a published writer.
But I’ve realized it doesn’t work that way. And you shouldn’t expect it to be either.
Procrastination is a pirate killer. It causes you to walk the plank, and swim in a circle for hours at a time. And by the time that you’re ready to get back in the ship, you’re surrounded by sharks that have other plans for you. They suck all your energy until you can’t climb back in the ship and resume your writing. You find yourself trying to find reasons to climb back in the ship until you can’t remember the reason why you walked the plank in the first place but there’s no one whispering in your ear anymore. Your muse has jumped ship. She’s been on a deserted island, drinking up all Capt’n Jack’s rum (sorry Hellion!) and roasting her lazy ass on the white sand.
Recently, I roped that bitch back to my side.
For months I spent trying to write. I wasn’t exactly procrastinating as much as I was forcing my writing. It’s almost just as bad. Everything I wrote was mechanical, unreadable, no emotion, no feeling. It just left a bad taste in my mouth. I tried everything I knew. I tried writing something else. I tried focusing on honing a part of my writing. I tried writing sentences to spark an idea. I tried writing on a different chapter. I tried writing some fluff (which I’m very very bad at) and I even took a break from the computer (the biggest sin of them all!). And nothing worked. Nothing at all. And it was frustrating. I’m not the type that talks about things when I’m frustrated. I just let it fester into a boil that won’t go away.
Finally I figured out the key to my muse. Lure her back with the promise of writing whatever she wants.
I dunno if this works for everyone, but I live by freedom in my writing. I’m a free spirit. I write like the wind and let the wind be my guide. When I try to rein myself in, I get all bottled up and I can’t write. At all. So no more of that. I will write on a whelm. I will have a good time doing it. I will not restrain myself. Restraint is good for keeping the info dump away but allowing freedom in your writing is good for your muse.
Sunday, my muse was back with a bad sunburn and a bad attitude. Like usual. She boosted my ass back into the ship and handed me my keyboard. She told me to get my ass in shape or she’d never stay. And with that, I wrote the best 3000 words I’ve written since February. But of course, she doesn’t want to write what I need to write. She wants to write something new. Something fresh. Something that we both know and can attest to. And it made me happy to write for the first time in a year. I can’t tell you the freedom I felt when my fingers hit that keyboard. I can’t remember the last time I pumped out 3k in less than six hours. I used to do it all the time. It’s something I find joy in. And I’ve finally got it back.
So this was my little tale of how I got my pirate groove back. And it didn’t take a jug of rum and a session of pillaging (though I thought about it seriously for a while). What exercises do you use when the procrastination bug strikes? And if it’s never hit you, do you have a back-up plan ready?
Writing isn’t always fun and games.
We would all like to think that we sit down to the computer (or pen and paper if you’re real old school) and pump out 80,000 words in a month and submit it to a publisher and voila! you’re a published writer.
But I’ve realized it doesn’t work that way. And you shouldn’t expect it to be either.
Procrastination is a pirate killer. It causes you to walk the plank, and swim in a circle for hours at a time. And by the time that you’re ready to get back in the ship, you’re surrounded by sharks that have other plans for you. They suck all your energy until you can’t climb back in the ship and resume your writing. You find yourself trying to find reasons to climb back in the ship until you can’t remember the reason why you walked the plank in the first place but there’s no one whispering in your ear anymore. Your muse has jumped ship. She’s been on a deserted island, drinking up all Capt’n Jack’s rum (sorry Hellion!) and roasting her lazy ass on the white sand.
Recently, I roped that bitch back to my side.
For months I spent trying to write. I wasn’t exactly procrastinating as much as I was forcing my writing. It’s almost just as bad. Everything I wrote was mechanical, unreadable, no emotion, no feeling. It just left a bad taste in my mouth. I tried everything I knew. I tried writing something else. I tried focusing on honing a part of my writing. I tried writing sentences to spark an idea. I tried writing on a different chapter. I tried writing some fluff (which I’m very very bad at) and I even took a break from the computer (the biggest sin of them all!). And nothing worked. Nothing at all. And it was frustrating. I’m not the type that talks about things when I’m frustrated. I just let it fester into a boil that won’t go away.
Finally I figured out the key to my muse. Lure her back with the promise of writing whatever she wants.
I dunno if this works for everyone, but I live by freedom in my writing. I’m a free spirit. I write like the wind and let the wind be my guide. When I try to rein myself in, I get all bottled up and I can’t write. At all. So no more of that. I will write on a whelm. I will have a good time doing it. I will not restrain myself. Restraint is good for keeping the info dump away but allowing freedom in your writing is good for your muse.
Sunday, my muse was back with a bad sunburn and a bad attitude. Like usual. She boosted my ass back into the ship and handed me my keyboard. She told me to get my ass in shape or she’d never stay. And with that, I wrote the best 3000 words I’ve written since February. But of course, she doesn’t want to write what I need to write. She wants to write something new. Something fresh. Something that we both know and can attest to. And it made me happy to write for the first time in a year. I can’t tell you the freedom I felt when my fingers hit that keyboard. I can’t remember the last time I pumped out 3k in less than six hours. I used to do it all the time. It’s something I find joy in. And I’ve finally got it back.
So this was my little tale of how I got my pirate groove back. And it didn’t take a jug of rum and a session of pillaging (though I thought about it seriously for a while). What exercises do you use when the procrastination bug strikes? And if it’s never hit you, do you have a back-up plan ready?
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