So the Rad-itors were feverishly firing off communiques betwixt each other, concerning all manner of Mavguard madness when as often happens when brilliant minds synergize (okay, three girls talking 24 hours prior to Valentine’s day, but I’m trying to wow you, Dear Reader at large) we morphed into multitask mode and discussed those topics most precious and primary to our common goal. (Yeah, one of us brought up her beau and the other two of us experienced some queasiness, but back to wowing) Once again as our minds melded in a kaleidoscopic burst of creativity we concurred that perpetuitous passion is pivotal to our cause: writing.
And that’s the lead in for today’s meandering blog. All that sweaty palmed, jitter legged, romance we feel in the first feral throes of a new relationship is very similar to that first grand story line that dances across your dendrites while you’re folding socks, or sautéing onions. That heady whispered dalliance awaits and you’re off, shallots blackened and footwear mismatched to dance the night away with your muse.
Enter reality with a couple of kids, a mortgage, student loan debt and a deadline at work in tow and that muse hasn’t helped you one bit. So you send that ephemeral home wrecker to the attic, the basement or perhaps that vaguely named, password protected “other” file on your hard drive and you work on wearing out your little groove in the path called domesticity. You forget all about your first love. And this my dear reader is why you remain unpublished, unfulfilled and perhaps still scrounging around for matching footwear in the morning. Bills gotta get paid, deadlines gotta get met, babies gotta get fed and passion has to be stoked.
So many writers are simply word junkies, driven by that crave from one quick hit to another. More than likely they’re poets (no offense to the lyrically inclined among you. I write poetry too) a page or two of thought plucked from the peacock’s tail to momentarily mesmerize the reader with the interplay of atmosphere and light. A few of us however, have learned to husband the whole bird. (and birds poop) That is the key to success and longevity as a writer. You must steward the gift. Stoke the fire, feed the bird, whatever metaphor sinks into your frontal lobe, if you truly love the craft of writing and you want success, you must invest your time, your sweat and great parts of yourself into it. You must learn to spell and punctuate (or pay for software and editing) you must read other books, lots of other books. You must complete the seventy seven novels on your hard drive. You must treat it like a real relationship, and not an infatuation. Truth is, muses are capricious flirting pests. Don’t wait for an inappropriate visit from your sparkly little muse. Write without her (or him or it) You’re the writer. You do it. Love after all is a verb.
Have you checked out Rani Divine’s new release Coetir, People of the Woods yet? If you’re still searching for an indulgent treat that won’t add five pounds to your hips, this is a wonderful story.
Peace and go easy on the chocolate.