What's A Writer To Do?

2013-05-20T03:30:00.000-04:00

For the first time in forever, I heard it.

The faintest of whispers, it flittered thru my brain like a hummingbird zeroing in on a flowering delicacy. It buzzed about, hither and yon, until finally it left me no choice. I had to sit down...

...and write.

Oh, how I’ve missed you, My Muse, My Muse.

It’d been so long. Too long. This terrible time when I’d begun to fear I’d never pursue my passion again. Life got in the way. Emotions ran rampant. And writing’s been the LAST thing on my mind.

I've felt so guilty. I’ve deserted my blog, backpedaled on a commitment to document “26 Acts of Kindness.” I struggle to edit my WIP (work in progress) although I'm still plodding along. I’ve considered entering the weekly writing challenge at FaithWriters, but dismissed the notion out of fear.

Occasionally I stop by my blog only to be taunted by the theme: “Writing Without Fear…Courageously Sharing With the World”

*eye roll*

I’m a writer. It’s what I do. But lately it’s just not there. Have even tried forcing it.

Didn't work out so well.

It feels like my muse has abandoned me, disgusted with my whining. You’d think he would be a little more understanding. Is it my fault that life has gone awry? I can’t help the fact that when emotions explode, my creative brain cells flee.

Really it’s quite a shame since there’s been a lot of material: Betrayal, grief, and emotional roller coasters. Pain and suffering. Drama and trauma. All the stuff good novels are made of, eh?

Maybe someday I’ll tap into it. But for the moment, the mere fact that I’m getting words on paper (fingers on keyboard) is amazing.

The elusive muse clamored for attention quite unexpectedly after many months of turning his back on me: He made an appearance while I was cleaning house. I barely recognized his voice and just for a second, entertained the possibility of ignoring him.

Tit for tat.

But in the end, I didn't dare, fearing he might never glance my way again.

And now tears threaten to blur my screen and words swim like a school of goldfish.

But these are happy tears instead of the pain-filled episodes of past months.

My muse doesn’t hate me.

And I can only hope he will show up again soon.

Maybe we can begin to repair our relationship that has been so damaged by circumstances and life.

If he’s willing, I’m in.

Roar Of A Lioness

What's A Writer To Do?