Writing Is Sort Of Like A Sickness

Sometimes, writing is like having an illness that doesn’t go away.  The urge hits you at the least convenient times.  In the shower, for instance.  How can you take pen and paper into such a wet environment?  Driving is another popular time for the muse to strike.  Yeah, I have two voice recorders, but they’re never around when I really need one.  In the middle of dinner out with friends and family, suddenly they notice the glazed look on my face.  It took awhile for them to understand, but eventually they got used to it.  Now they simply cut me out and focus on other people when the muse clobbers me at social events.  “Oh, she’s writing.  Just ignore her.”

But nighttime, sleep-time, is the all-time favorite of the muse.  Imagine this…you’re lying in bed half asleep when, for no reason at all, with no external triggers, totally out of the blue, a concept lights up your brain.  Your eyes fly open, and you are suddenly awake.  This is a regular occurrence for me.  I’m what is called a prolific author, which is a buzzword for someone who can’t stop writing.  Prolific means that the characters that present themselves to me almost never shut up.  Now, for the non-writer, the idea of characters “talking” to a writer seems strange.  But every fiction writer on the planet knows what I am talking about.  But don’t let this turn you off.  Characters don’t talk to writers in a schizophrenic way.  It’s just that they are always around, ready and waiting to be developed.

I am constantly writing.  This may be difficult to understand.  The best way I can explain this is to say that I interpret the world around me through the lens of a writer’s eye.  I can write anywhere, anytime, in any portion of any concept or book I may be working on, and any theme.  Unfortunately, I don’t want to be doing this in the middle of the night.  This is when those aforementioned characters really annoy the hell out of me.

It goes something like this….

I’m all cozy, comfy and blissfully near dream world as I cuddle my pillow in my nice, warm bed, when ideas start to intrude on my sleepy state and my brain goes active without my wanting it to.  As I’ve stated, characters don’t “talk” to writers, as such.  But if they did, it might go something like the following.

Sue Muse’s voice echoes through my sleepy brain, ‘You know, I think Mitch and I should meet at a friend’s house not in a restaurant.  I see some problems with that scenario, don’t you?’

“No, no, I don’t see a problem with that. Especially not right now.  In case you hadn’t noticed, I am trying to sleep,” I mutter.

Sue Muse: ‘Hey, I just thought you should know.  After all, you’re the one that wants everything to be perfect.’

“Nope.  Nope, I’m fine with not being perfect.  I just want to have a perfect sleep,” I grumble.

Sue Muse: ‘You say that now, but in the morning, you’ll thank me for waking you up.’

“You can shut up anytime,” I chime.

Sue Muse ignores me.  ‘And I’d really prefer it if Mitch would not be so crazy aggressive.  I want things to be more romantic.  That would be nice for a change.’

“There’s just one problem with that.  C. D. Blizzard does not, I repeat DOES NOT, write romance.”

Sue Muse:  ‘Oh, come on, think of the depth that would bring to the story.  A total broadside to the reader, if you will.’

“You’re really pissing me off,” I warn.  “Time for you to shut up now.”

Sue Muse: ‘Don’t you think you should at least write this down?  I know how you are.  You’re going to fall asleep, and you’re going to tell yourself that you’ll remember all of this in the morning.  Then, when you wake up, you’ll be mad at yourself because you don’t remember any of it.’

“I don’t think so.  I’m perfectly fine with forgetting all about this come morning.”  I shift in bed, roll over and pull the pillow around to a more comfortable position, keeping my eyes firmly shut.  I am determined not to let this brain activity get me too far awake, even though it already has, and I think if I keep my eyes shut all this will go away and I’ll go back to sleep.  “Besides, I will remember it all.”

Sue Muse:  Laughter.  ‘Not only will you not remember it but you’ll write something completely different.  Then you’ll get mad because what you write won’t be as good as what we are talking about right now.’

“Nope.  I’ll definitely be okie-dokie if you shut up and let me go to sleep right now.”

Sue Muse:  ‘Will not.’

“Will too.” 

For a moment there is silence.  I can almost feel myself drifting toward sleep again.  Ah, it feels so good.  Maybe the muse is putting a lid on it now.

Sue Muse pats me on the hip.  ‘Wakie, wakie.  I have lots more to tell you.’

“Nope. No way. I’m not listening. I’m going to sleep.”

Mitch Muse pipes in: ‘Hey, since you’re already awake, I don’t like the way you described my nose.  You said it was sharp.  What is it… a pencil?  It’s a nose, for crying out loud.  Describe it so people see a nose not a pencil.’

“I’m not awake. I’m very much asleep,” I tell Mitch Muse.  “And I don’t care about your nose right now.  It’s sharp, okay.  You have a thin, sharp nose, and it’s gonna stay that way.”

Mitch Muse:  ‘No, I distinctly heard you talking just now, so you can’t be asleep.  Besides, we need to discuss that upcoming plot point.’ 

I groan, fidget for awhile and try to rearrange my pillow again.  “Not listening,” I whisper to myself.

Sue Muse says to Mitch Muse: ‘She’s grumpy.’

Mitch Muse:  ‘I noticed.’

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” I moan.  I put my hands over my ears.  “Lalalalalalaa, not listening to you guys.”

Sue Muse: ‘She’s grumpy a lot.  One would get the impression that she doesn’t like us.’

Mitch Muse:  ‘What’s not to like about us.  Writing makes her happy. We are the fuel for her fire.  We are what gets her up in the morning¾’

 “And the middle of the night,” I throw in.

 Mitch Muse:  ‘She lives for us.’ 

 “Do not.  I live for lots of other things, too.”

 Sue Muse: ‘Name something else you live for.’

 “Ummm…uh…mmm….”

 Sue Muse: ‘That’s what I thought.  You can’t come up with anything, can you?’

 “Screw you.”

 Mitch Muse: ‘Eloquent, as always.’

 Sue Muse says to Mitch Muse:  ‘Your nose isn’t so sharp.  In fact, I think it’s rather nice.  It adds character to your face.’

 Mitch Muse: ‘Oh, thank you.  Glad you noticed.’

 At this point I realize that my eyes are open.  I’m staring into the darkness of my bedroom and actually considering getting out of bed and going to my computer.

 “No,” I mutter as I forcibly squeeze my eyes shut.  “Not gonna do it.”

 My eyes won’t stay shut.  The plot concept won’t go away.  It’s no use.  I’m wide awake now.  I know from experience that I can either get up and write my thoughts down, or I can lie there and stare at the ceiling for a few hours.  Either way, my night is shot. 

 Copyright 2008  C. D. Blizzard      Go To: www.cdblizzard.com