He's probably lounging on a beach in the Caribbean sipping a gin and tonic, goggling the girls with his one good eye.
Meanwhile, I'm stuck, senza Muse, to figure out what to do with this writer's block.
I've deleted more words than I've written. How is that mathematically possible, you may ask.
Exactly.
I'm in negative wordage. Which means I have to scribble words on random surfaces until I'm back at zero and can return to my manuscript. I write on Post-It notes, backs of receipts, and bathroom stalls. (Yes, I've discovered the mystery. Messages on stall walls were written by blocked writers, not delinquent teens. Tommy Tutone cured his artistic block by scribbling "867-5309" on a bathroom wall.) I create grocery lists I don't intend to buy, to-do items I'll never do.
The next time my Muse goes on vacation, I'm going with him.
I'm sorry to hear about the lack of words. That feels really frustrating. I can feel it in your words. It's neat to think of the scribbling in terms of working yourself back to zero on words count, back from the negatives. I hope that zero count comes soon for you.
As I sit in the same place every day, words creep onto the page. I think I may be working out of this, but it's exactly that--hard work. Though I must confess, it's a joyful work.
My question is, why isn't the muse required to take you with him on said vacation. That should be part of any muse contract, IMHO.
Can't live with 'em. Can't live without 'em.
I make up songs and sing them -- and drive my husband batty.
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