Stuck in the Mud

As a girl who grew up in South Mississippi, I’ve seen my share of mud. Yes, I’ve even played in it. Walking through the marsh swamp hunting deer or searching out a lost coon hound. (Did I mention I’m a veganish/vegitarian/animal rights person now?) Four wheeler or horseback riding on the trails with friends. Riding shotgun with a studly guy showing what he and his truck are made of down the power lines. Heck, I’ve even voluntarily run obstacle courses through the stuff.

In all the playing inevitably people and machines got stuck.

Mud is slick and slippery. It’s also thick and messy. It suctions to you, holding you down like a super villain with super strength. If you’ve ever played in the mud, you know it’s tough to get out of the mud.

Well friends, I’m stuck in the mud!

I’m bogged in the figurative mud of writing. Chapter 19 is the suction holding my fingers over the keys, unable to move. Eventually I’ll twist and wiggle enough and my fingers with break free. I’ll stare at the page long enough and the words will come.

This muddy spot will pass, it always does. But it got me thinking.

What do you do when you get stuck in the mud?

Giddy as a School Girl

I have never been a groupie. Well, okay. Maybe, for a minute in college, I may have been a groupie. The unknown band was really good. Filled with skilled musicians. Fine. Fine. The lead singer was dreamy. But I quickly came to my senses and went on my merry way.

So, like I said before, I’ve never really been a groupie. Mindless devotion. Seeking emotional connections where none lie or (aahem) sexual intimacy were non should exist. Fame hounding through affiliation. All not my thing!

But if I were to ever become a groupie, Harlan Coben, I would be yours! In a strictly non-sexual, stalking, or otherwise threatening way!

A year and a half ago my Auntie Rose turned me onto your work (late bloomer, I know) and I was hooked. I was first struck by the culture and character with which you write. A sentence in your book is not a mere sentence, but a living glimpse into the world you’ve created. And hey, don’t get me started on hooks and plot twists.

Your writing entertains me, but better it inspires me to improve my own.

And in honor of your fabulousness, I must tell all who read my blog (Mom, Aunts, Writer Friends). I’m giddy as a school girl because I’m about to crack open Harlan Coben’s new release STAY CLOSE!!

My Confession

Just know the entire time I wrote this post, Usher’s Confessions was running a loop in my head. Well, that and a funeral dirge. The slow and somber tones a New Orleans Jazz Band plays during the procession to the cemetery. Not to be confused with the merry tunes they play during the exit.

I’m a dead woman typing. Marching myself to the slaughter house. And I can’t seem to stop the rapid progression. Has my conscience finally gotten the best of me or is it the thrill of revealing a forbidden secret?

I was going to blog about the authors and characters you love, as a follow up to my previous Who do you hate? post. Then, my thoughts got convoluted by the fact that, if I wrote that post I might be caught. So, instead of being caught I figured I should just come clean. Boy am I dumb!

Prepare your pitchforks, lanterns and stakes.

I confess, I love the library and rarely buy books. Ouch! (Rotten tomato to the face.)

I feel guilty sometimes. Here I am, trying to become a successful author, and I hardly ever buy another author’s books. Damn, that sounds really bad. (I have purchased some of my favorites and some of my “writer friends’ books.”)

But then I think about my reasons and I can rationalize it. First and foremost, the library has a massive collection of books for customers to use, basically, free of charge. Second, I read the book and bring it back for someone else to read. I don’t have to find shelf space for the sucker. I know, I know, e-readers. Yes, I have two, but e-books cost money too. And some libraries have e-readers for customers to check out e-books.

If every library bought a copy of my (not yet published, not yet queried, not yet self published) book, I would be a happy girl! It would allow readers access to my work with little to no cost to them and allow me a little payment for my efforts. And hundreds of thousands of unused books would not sit wasted from disuse.

What are your thought? I’m a total lunatic and cheapskate. Maybe. Okay, definitely.

More Than A Muse

A muse. The voice inside your head. The devil on your shoulder. The spark on the horizon.

My muse showed up one day while I was folding laundry. She barreled into me like a two hundred sixty pound defensive tackle. She scared the hell out of me. One minute I was folding clothes and the next I was plotting a novel. She was dogged. Morning, noon, or night she was there. Shaking me. Pushing me. Freaking me out.

Before I knew it, the book was done and so was she. Sure she’d given me the ideas for the next three novels, but she wasn’t shaking and pushing any longer. Reality set in and scared me all the more. Until I figured it out.

It takes more than a muse to become a successful author.

Too bad, I know!

But look at most successful authors. Sure, they have a muse, but those things are often fickle. They don’t rely on a muse. Successful authors know their craft and continually study to improve. They are goal oriented, determined and above all hard working people. They surround themselves with people who believe in them and shut out the nay sayers.

Above all, they are prolific.

So writers, write and write and write with or without your muse.