I have had a heck of a time finding my muse in the past months. Consequently, my writing has slowed to something that feels far less than a crawl. Deadlines have been pushed back, repeatedly. LAC 13 should be out, and I should be working on LAC 14. Neither is true, and that makes me miserable and probably quite difficult to be around. Yet, it makes sense: My lifeblood is inert.
On November 1st, I desperately—but I hope not foolishly—signed on for National Novel Writing Month, joining many, many others in their endeavor to write 50,000 words in the month of November. In order to achieve that, a minimum of 1,667 words must be written each day. When the muse is absent, that feels a lot like pulling 1,667 teeth from my own tight-lipped head.
If I’m lucky, if I persevere, I just may find my muse on one of those days. Lollygagging somewhere, I imagine. She’ll smile at me, ask what took me so long to find her, and be more than eager to help me on my way.
In the meantime, I’ll be typing—madly typing—with crossed fingers.