All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

The Muses are laughing at me.  Seriously.  Almost ten years ago I started writing a story- fan fiction of sorts- about the characters DH and I played on the game EverQuest.

The Muses have been laughing at me ever since.

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.  -Ernest Hemingway

My story has definitely morphed from mere fan-fic to a full blown story.  My leading lady’s adventures roll around in my head like so many rocks until I have a headache.  I know what she is doing, what she looks like, what her personality is.  I know what her adventures are and how they should end up.  I know what tragedy befalls her and how her heart is broken.  I know the beginning of my book, and the end.

The muses, however, are content to let me flail around trying to to fill in the middle. They stuck this story in my head and now I just can’t seem to get it out. The words just won’t come.  I know what is in my head, but my hands refuse to put it to paper.

I realize this is the hell creative process that all writers go through.  I have been told in the past that I am very creative and when I was younger I wrote small stories for school and I was told I was good at it.

However, I never nurtured this.  At 34 years old I have never once nurtured any creative bone in my body and it feels as if it has atrophied.

All I’m writing is just what I feel, that’s all. I just keep it almost naked. And probably the words are so bland.  -Jimi Hendrix

Photography and writing have always been passions of mine.  I have always wanted to take pictures.  No, not take pictures,  but capture photographs.  The kind you see on National Geographic.  The kinds that win awards.  It has taken me all these many years but I have finally started to nurture that and I have a great support system (read DH) for it.  I have been getting better with capturing the world around me in photographs and if I keep it up I may actually make money with it one day.

Writing on the other hand…  The other day the Muses just decided that I had piddle farted around enough and I needed to get back to it.  They had a story to tell, through me, and I was neglecting my duties.  They have made their intent loud and clear by giving me a borderline obsession with this story.

I ask them, “What the hell…how can you tell me to write a story if you don’t at least help me out?”  So what do they do?  They give me ideas and keep me awake at night, writing.  They give me ideas while I am taking a shower and I must get out and write it down NOW.  Not later, not tomorrow… NOW.

That’s what I get, I guess.  You really shouldn’t get up in a Muse’s face or they will get all up in your brain.

The only problem is, the original problem still exists.  My mind knows what to write but my fingers refuse to perform their alloted duties.  The words just won’t come.  My vocabulary feels stunted for lack of adequate words to reflect the emotions and surroundings my people have.

They are my people, not merely characters.  They live inside my mind as surely as my kids live inside my house.  When I read over my story I laugh, or cry, with them.  They will always be there, trying to tell me their side of things.  Trying to make me understand.

And I will always be here, at my computer or with notebook, trying to write them down.

When writing a novel a writer should create living people; people not characters. A character is a caricature.  -Ernest Hemingway

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