"Fool!" said my muse to me. "Look in thy heart and write." (Sir Philip Sidney, Astrophel and Stella)
Oh, that it were so easy. You may be fascinate to know (or not!) that in the Latin, the word "mus" means mouse or rat. The word "musa" means a muse or a goddess of music. I hear music a lot. But more often I hear whispers. Words. Musings of the muses (or perhaps the mus...). Conversations. Characters yammering. I love the total distraction, the escape into sublime, often singing voices.
Not crazy, I'm just a writer. And I must remind myself of that daily. More especially now that Smitten Image, my paranormal romance is coming out with Crimson Romance in July.
Like so many introverts and artists, I need constant reinforement that yes, I am a writer. (And Rionna, bless her gigantic heart is great for that.) Because currently I'm a social butterfly flitting about the Big Tangly Web In The Sky. And I can't seem to quit aggravating over it. I am NOT a butterfly, I'm a moth. Bright shiny lights attract me, distract me. Getting accepted with a publisher is the biggest and brightest of glowing objects I've had in sight for awhile.
But the voices are growing more quiet. I've ignored the Chanting of Muses, being too manic doing the Network Rumba. See, moths don't dance. They flit...
My muse is shouting now. "Fool," she yells over and over, "get out of your head and write!"