I’m having a mini crisis. Knowing that I cycle through good and bad moods doesn’t make it any easier to avoid the depression when it hits. I slept for twelve hours last night. Last week I handwrote a dozen pages for CRANK. I was excited about that because it was the first of any quality in a month. Now I can’t even convince myself that the story is any good at all. It is. I know it is. Yet I ran through the rough outline in my head while I showered today and all I could come up with was “meh”. (Yes, in the shower. The shower, the treadmill, the car – all good places to find The Muse when she’s otherwise stubborn.)
Writing makes me happy. I love giving life to the voices in my head. When something that makes me happy suddenly doesn’t – when writing fails me – I can’t come up with the words to describe the black vortex in my thoughts. I thought about forcing it. I thought if I typed up some of the bits in my worn spiral-bound notebook, The Muse couldn’t help but join in and continue where those scenes left off. Instead I stalled, staying in bed this morning with my face buried in pillows, wondering why I should even try to publish any of these fucked up stories of mine.
Part of the trouble is that I have no one close that understands The Muse. The Hubby is a very creative mind, but our Muses differ. His understands that he’s in charge and when he needs to write up an encounter The Muse does not wander off to think about pretty gay boys. Ok, so The Hubby’s Muse would never think about that like mine will, but I think you get the point.
I’m not really whining. I’m lonely for conversation with other writers. I’ve searched for local groups, but New Hampshire is a damn boring state. I have my darling Twitter followers, and that helps some. There are some great minds out there, and I love picking at them, even if it is only electronically. I’m really just in one of those moods, nearing the bottom of a cycle that I’m aware of, if not used to. I’ll pull through. I always do.
Here’s a little something to lighten the mood:
On our way out to this tiny little breakfast diner this morning, I checked the mail. I rarely bother to grab the mail on Saturday, and even less so if I don’t leave the house. Waiting in the mailbox was Amanda Young’s HARD CANDY. I was thrilled. I ripped it open and flipped through it while The Hubby drove.
After breakfast, as we climbed out of the car back at home, he said, “Don’t forget your coffee cup.”
I replied, “Or my new book.”
“Yes. I don’t want to have to explain that one.”
“I didn’t tell you what it was about.”
“It’s called HARD CANDY and it has a guy licking a sucker on the front…”
I almost put the book back in the car just to see what would happen. Instead, maybe I’ll use the scene to tease The Muse back to work. I’m all out of caramels, but maybe, just maybe, that will substitute.