Almost two weeks ago, I had to have my 10-year-old dog, Sambuca put down. When I thought about my muse, I realized my best ideas always occurred when I was out with him for his last pee break of the night. Since Sambuca went to the great doggy park in the sky, I had yet to have a decent idea about my current work in progress. I’ve spent day after day in front of my computer writing complete drivel. Nothing came to me. No divine inspiration, no great idea about how to get past the roadblock I’d successfully built to keep my characters apart. I’ve been stressing, thinking that I had lost my muse.
Yesterday I drove from Maryland to Florida with my two critique partners, Laura and Deborah. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending upon how you look at it, our muses decided to come with us for the 19-hour drive from Maryland to Tampa. The trip usually takes 16 hours, but thanks to Laura’s trouble making muse, Trixie, we hit nothing but traffic and accidents until we reached South Carolina. It was then I discovered I hadn’t lost my muse at all. He had just decided to go party with their muses. After all, my place was bringing him down.
By 11:30 last night, we’d all had our fill of driving and dealing with unruly muses, so we put them to work and began plotting my next project. It was amazing to find my muse again, and even though we are no longer attached at the hip, at least he was stuck in the same car and actively participating. He dumped the plot of an entirely different book right in my lap as we traveled the last miles to our destination. It would have been nice if he’d helped me resolve my current dilemma before starting a new project, but right now I’m just glad my muse is still with me. He isn’t always working on my project of choice, but at least he didn’t leave me for long—and that in itself is a huge relief.