My fellow North Carolinian writer friend Jeffrey Hargett was kind enough to guest blog for me, but we expected to get it out a few months ago. I’ve had a tremendous amount of sickness and deaths in the family this Autumn season, so I’ve fallen off the grid for awhile. I’m back feeling somewhat renewed and refreshed. Jeff always makes me giggle even when times are particularly bleak. Without further adieu, welcome Jeff Hargett.
Amuse the Muse
I’ve learned a secret. It’s simple really, but priceless. And now that I’ve learned it, I’ll never again sit and stare at my monitor with its blank, white page mocking me. No more will my thumbs tap the rhythm of Afternoon Delight while I watch the cursor heckle me with disdain in its every blink.
I shall always be inspired. Impressive vistas will fill my mind’s gaze. Characters will beat at my front door, begging to be written into my tales. I’ll weave plot through my fingers like yarn. I’ll foreshadow my foreshadows and care not one whit if my participles dangle. For I shall have story.
And my story will cause men to weep, women to squeal and children to shout. My readers will scour the internet, vainly searching out my abode and demanding more. “Sequels!” they’ll scream. “A series!” will be the cry of others. “More! More! More!” Their chants will deafen. Their pulses, throbbing with insatiable dependence upon my every word, will race unchecked. Their pitch a frenzy, I shall peer down upon them and bless them with what they crave most. More.
All because I’ve learned the secret. For only this secret can guarantee that creativity and inspiration will surround me like the very air I breathe. Manuscripts nigh unto perfection will wash out from me like an eternal wellspring. My readers shall love me. For I, humble I alone, know the secret.
But no longer. She tells me I must share. I must impart to other writers the wisdom of this secret. I have no choice but to comply for I am at her mercy. She knows this, uses this against me. I know and cannot care, for I am her captive.
She is my muse. It is from her the wellspring flows. The vistas in my mind are what she has painted. She breathed life into my characters. The tapestry of my plot, I wove solely from threads that she shared. She births the stories that I tell.
But for this she demands payment. And her price is high.
She leans over my shoulder and whispers in my ear. “Amuse me, Jeff. Amuse your muse.” I’m fully dependent upon her. Obliging her is my only option. With her in my midst, I bleed prose. Without her, I merely bleed. Profusely.
“That won’t work,” I tell her. “It contradicts the scene in chapter twelve.”
Her stern eyes widen. “Details, Jeff. Details! Don’t bother me with such drivel. This is good stuff I’m giving you.”
“So was chapter twelve,” I mumble, then wince, realizing that such behavior doesn’t amuse my muse at all. Will she vanish now? Fly out of the room and slam the door behind her? Pull from my mind the gems she just bestowed? “I’ll make it work,” I cry in desperation. “Somehow, I will.”
The fury fades from her eyes. A sadistic grin curls her lip. But I love her. I need her. And she knows it. Amuse her, I shall.
About Jeff Hargett:
Jeff is a middle-aged nerd who has convinced himself that he writes epic fantasy. His wife enables him. His daughter encourages him. And his oldest grandson loves his dragons. Can life get any better?
Connect with Jeff at:
His blog: http://strandsofpattern.blogspot.com/