Waiting For My Muse

I finished writing my 17th novel the other day and it has thrown me into a complete funk. A big project is my anchor from week to week, but I go a bit crazy when there is no idea, no focus - there is nothing to do during those cool morning hours when I would normally be blissfully pecking away at the keyboard.

Over the years I have written a lot! Jean Auel, author of a sexy prehistoric series, said one has to write a million words before he or she is competent to tell a proper story. Her Clan of the Cave Bear series sold millions, but it would never have been read of at all if some janitor had not pulled it out of the publisher's slush pile and tugged on an editor's sleeve - or so the story goes. I imagine Raquel Welch or Bo Derek must have been the muse for those books - the heroine succumbs to the powerfully muscled male about every other page.

I quite enjoyed Ms. Auel's prehistoric vistas, but I always felt there was life after romance, and so my books tend to draw the curtain on the love scenes and work a bit harder on the romance of olden times. If I am going to spend a year writing a book, I want it to have a bit more historical meat to the story.

I'm waiting. I have cleaned the floors and refrigerator, and washed down the porch. My muse wasn't there. I have plenty of work to do. I could make something arty - or clean the john - but I want an idea, a theme, a story to return me to my proper
attitude. If you have one, let me know. I know I have written my million words by now and I want another story to tell.

In the meantime, I plan to join my cat just hanging around. Hope your muse is with you and that you walk on the sunny side! Terry

TO THE ARTIST;

Paint me a picture,
sing me a song,
Shape me a memory
That comes on
So strong
I hold my breath
To ringing truth;
And to my sweet surprise
The moment is truer than
The hour that it passed –
Reborn in the mind’s
Bright looking glass.