Life After NaNo

     Well, the fury has finally come to an end. I completed NaNo a few days ago. ***Throws confetti and blows horn*** Now what? I still haven't finished my story. I am nowhere close to being able to call it a wrap. 

     A lot of it has to do with the way I write. I bounce from scene to scene in no particular order. It helps prevent me from getting bored. I have a loose rough outline to keep the characters from completely taking over, but for the most part, I let them run free.

     Some people complain about the time of year that NaNo takes place. I know the holidays are a tough time for most, but if you look at it in another way it just makes sense.

     This is the last part of the year. By having NaNo in November those that finish have a sense of accomplishment. The one year they managed to do an inconceivable amount of writing in an impossible span of time. Second, the stupor you often feel after completing it is akin to the state you feel after a good holiday meal. My third and final point is that you can put your manuscript away without too much guilt since you need to get ready for Christmas. After the hoopla of the holidays you will be able to look at your manuscript with fresh eyes and be able to polish it til it shines.

     I am in that numb creative stage. I can’t seem to do much of any real writing. My muse Tallulah tempts me with vivid scenes. The more I resist the more she shows me. Maybe if I ignore her long enough she will break down and do the writing for me. LOL. (Note : Tallulah says: Pffffffbt! and then gave me the finger.)  Oh well, a gal can dream.

     So now, I have six, count them, six projects that are in the wings, seven if you count my NaNo piece. Ah, the dangers we encounter after we open the floodgates.  Story ideas have never been a problem for me (Tallulah curtseys). My bane shall always be in the follow through and as much as I would love to blame Tallulah, I know the fault is all mine. For now, I will kick back and relax a bit until the urge to write becomes overwhelming.

     I want to thank all my friends who put up with my whining and complaining. I really don’t deserve to have such a supportive groups as y’all and y’all don’t deserve to have to listen to me b*tching all the time. I love y’all more than I can ever express.

     Happy Holidays to all! 

Muses and Other Sadistic B*tches

         My muse is named Tallulah Belle and she is every inch the Southern Belle. She is headstrong and extremely vocal. When she wants me to write something, she will not give me a minute’s peace until I at least sketch it out. I have to appease her or she will just not shut-up. She will flood my dreams with scenes from the story, often involving tasty snippets of some very hawt men. Let’s face it, the b*tch knows what I like and she know just what I need to get me hooked.

          I am in the middle of my second year participating in National Novel Writing Month, affectionately known as NaNo. I have a set story that I am desperate to finish. It has plagued me for months. I am finally making good headway with it, but Tallulah seems to have other plans. She waits until I start writing my story, then she will show me a scene and try to tempt me away. So far, she has shown me four distinctive stories. They vary genres from two YA stories (one mystery, one paranormal) both could easily go into series, one erotica, and one murder mystery.  I don’t believe she has stopped in her attempt to derail my progress.

          Now, I know this sounds like a bunch of hogwash. I will fully admit that before I started writing I would hear an author speak of their muse talking to them, working out their stories.  I would roll my eyes and think, “Boy, what a bunch of crap! If you don’t want to tell me where you get your ideas that’s fine, but seriously!” I have since fallen down the rabbit hole, stepped through the mirror, said goodbye to sanity and joined the league of muse-controlled writers.

          It is a love/hate relationship. She taunts and teases. She disappears when I need her most. She pouts and pitches a fight when I refuse to listen. Worst of all the b*tch has no sense of time. She will wait until I am almost asleep to think of a solution to a certain scene or come up with a plot that I’ve been struggling with for days.

          I will head to bed. Get all nice and comfy. My body starts to relax as the tensions of the day slowly leaves my body.

Tallulah:   Hey Mags. You asleep?

Me: Hmmm.

Tallulah:   Oh…Too bad, I was thinking and you know how you had the guy falling down the cave entrance. Well, I was thinking that maybe he should first ALMOST fall first. You know sort of builds the drama don’t ya think.

Me: *sigh* Tallulah, it is 1 am and I have to be up in 2 hours. Can this wait til morning.

Tallulah: Well excuse me, missy. I was just trying to help, but if you’re going to bite my head off then I’ll just shut up and leave you alone. It’s not like I don’t have other things to do. *huffs loudly**

Me: Thank you. *rolls over*

Tallulah:   I mean it’s not like I enjoy thinking of your dreck every minute. I mean seriously some of the things you expect me to fix! I would expect a little more gratitude from you, but I guess that is asking way too much.

Me:  At 1 am? Yes, it is way too much to expect. Now, if you’d wait until the morning I will be more than happy to hear your take. Seriously, are you trying to make me so sleep deprived that you can just take over and write the d*mn thing yourself?

Tallulah:   Hmmm, is that possible?

Me:  I was kidding. Now let me sleep…please.

Tallulah: Oh alright. Goodnight.

15 minutes elapses

Tallulah: Had enough sleep yet?

Me:  NO!

Tallulah:  You want to write. You want to write. You want to write.

Me: WTF?

Tallulah:  Trying to take over your body. I dunno, it seemed interesting and I thought I’d give it a try. It’s not like there is a manual you know.

Me: Who’s Emmanuel?

Tallulah:   *exasperated, she sighs* A manual. A book on how to—oh never mind, go back to sleep.

Me:  *snicker*

          I want to say, I don't always win these battles. Truth be told, she wins far more than I do and I hate to lose. The only thing that stops me from getting truly bitter is I know that by losing these battles with my muse, I actually win. It illustrates the old adage, "sometimes you have to lose the battle in order to win the war."

         I have come to enjoy my talks with my muse, even when she jumps from subject to subject like a rat on crack. It is always an exciting exchange full of endless possibilities. Life is good and my muse is chatty. To say that my relationship with my muse is complicated is an understatement. I will ride this wave as long as it last and be thankful for the inspiration, even if it means little sleeps and whispered voices at inopportune moments.  It is the price I pay for my creativity and I happen to think it’s worth it. J

         I'm blogging over a the Para posse blog tomorrow on what draws us to paranormal romance. Come by http://paraposse.blogspot.com/ and comment for your chance to win a $25 Amazon gift card.

In the Beginning

Growing up in the rural South, you either spend your days exploring and creating magical lands or you retreat into the wonderful world of words. I would love to say that I was born a lover of books, but I wasn't. I spent my days running through the woods in hunt for the mythical beasts both my Grandfather and Uncle spoke of during my bedtime stories. Legends and myths were real and the battles mesmerized me. I feel blessed to have been born into such a rich heritage of story telling.

I think my Grandfather wasn't trying to do anything more than to con me into the Land of Nod, so he could have a moments peace from my endless litany of "why". Why can't we see fairies? Why does the Green Man hide from me? If I find the foxes hole, will he invite me for tea? If I climb to the top of a pine tree will the eagle show me how to fly? Yes, in my childhood, animals were my main focus. I loved the idea of shifters. The thought that we could become a fox or wolf consumed me. I would pester my Grandfather and Uncle to tell me story after story where the hero would spread their arms and take flight or shift to wolf in mid leap.

Years later,  I have learned that for the most part my Grandfather and Uncle only loosely based their stories on the legends of the Cherokee and stories of Irish lore. They deftly wove them together and created a world in which I flourished. I look back at those stories as a springboard for my own tales of wonder.

Now I spend my days creating worlds full of misadventure. I let my imagination run rampant and sit back and smile. I can only hope that I do them justice in carrying the torch of storytelling. I too weave multi legends and myths into the background of my stories. I can only hope to find others who enjoy my worlds.