Insurrection.

Despite my previous growling on the subject, I may be willing to buy into the personification of a muse if only because mine, if he or she exists, is a contrary little cow who doesn’t like to let me sleep. I’ve been turning over a short story idea, as I really want to get past my seeming inability to write them (even picked up a helpful book on the topic), especially since I wanted to put together a submission for the Esquire short fiction contest. I even thought I’d fool my novel-oriented brain into writing short stories by planning an anthology of them, even if I have no intention of submitting a full anthology anywhere and would just send the separate short stories.

Well apparently something kicked my brain in its ass last night – as while I was trying to sleep, ideas started popping up. I really, really wanted to sleep. Really. But no, my creative half decides that 2:30a on a work night is the perfect time to start going off all half-cocked. It started off with a few opening lines on the Insurrection theme:

It started with the beer.

Every day George Hogan clocked out at exactly 5:45pm – and at 6:12, promptly clocked back in at O’Malley’s on Fifth. He punched his time card in peanut shells and pretzel crumbs, and ordered a beer on tap.

Next thing I know it’s 5a and I’ve written some 600 words on various segments of the story, and have almost the whole thing planned out. Just have to flesh it out.

I know I shouldn’t be complaining about suddenly having a workable short story idea when before I was complaining about not being able to write them at all…but dammit, can’t my ideas keep sane work hours?

Muse Musing.

I may get flamed for saying this, but…a major pet peeve of mine is when authors personify their inspiration, creativity, and work ethic (and lack thereof) as a muse. It doesn’t bother me when it’s just used as a general saying, but there are some who take it so far as to talk about discussions with their muse, talk about arguments with her, and generally blame her for any creative shortcomings as if they can somehow be excused for missing a deadline or writing a bad story because it’s the muse’s fault; it’s not theirs.

Your creativity is not a separate entity from you. Personifying it doesn’t show how unique and imaginative you are; it shows an unwillingness to take responsibility for the fact that your own productivity as a writer (especially as a professional one) is on your shoulders. It’s one thing for an unpublished author to waffle around with their muse. They have no obligations to anyone but themselves. But a published author has certain obligations; if not to their readers (I think Neil Gaiman covered that point pretty well), then to their agent, their editor, and their publishing house. If your contract stipulates that you produce X number of books in a certain time within reasonable expectations, then you need to grab your so-called muse by the throat and inform her of one very important thing:

This is your job. Whether you’re feeling it or not, you need to wake up, soldier up, and where your creativity and inspiration fail you, call on experience and professionalism. Sometimes you just need to forge through, get the idea on paper, get past the hump, and then come back later to polish it into genius. If this was a nine-to-five job, you wouldn’t be able to say “I’m sorry I didn’t do that presentation for today’s meeting, sir; my muse just wasn’t feeling it.” You’d be out on your arse in a heartbeat, looking for a new job.

Yes, creativity has its foibles; it’s a frustrating thing that I struggle with just as much as anyone else. But frankly the real world doesn’t leave much room for foibles, and doesn’t have much patience when your muse is behaving like a stubborn, recalcitrant child. Meditate. Listen to music. Go out and try something new. Do some research. Draw Venn diagrams of your plot threads. Play word association games. Do whatever it takes, but do something that will kick your arse further down the path to finishing the bloody story rather than just wibbling about how uncooperative your muse is being.

And if the creativity just isn’t happening and you really can’t make it work? Take responsibility for it. Say “I can’t do this right now. I can’t work out the plot thread, I can’t find the words, I can’t unravel this problem.” Because it’s you. It’s not your muse. Just about anyone would understand “My brain isn’t in the right place right now; I need a little more time.” It’ll get you a hell of a better reception than “My muse just won’t cooperate! Can you hold on while I negotiate with her and try to stimulate her?”

I know I may seem like the last person to talk about writing every day considering how often I stray away from my fiction and story-bounce, but the thing is…right now, fiction is my hobby. It’s something I do in my spare time. It’s not my job. Writing resumes and articles – that’s my job. And I do it. Even when I’m not feeling it, I do it. I arrange my schedule as necessary to get my work done on time, making sure that each resume hits its deadline and all my articles are ready every week before my Monday newsletters go out. There are days when I look at client worksheets and not a word of it makes sense. I don’t want to be bothered with it, and I’m not feeling particularly inspired to write what’s basically a two-page marketing piece selling someone to an employer whether I, personally, feel they’re qualified or not.

But I do it anyway, because there are people depending on me. My clients depend on me to help them present their experience in the best way possible, so they can get and keep a job that will keep a roof over their heads and food on their tables. My boss depends on me to produce content that makes clients (and readers, for the articles) nod, smile, and tell other people about it so that the reputation of the business remains strong and we can keep operating and turning a profit, making sure we have roofs over our heads and food on our tables. Hikaru depends on me to pull in my half of our joint income so we can make ends meet and live comfortably without one or the other having to struggle to cover our expenses. These people all depend on me to be professional, whether I’m feeling like writing or not.

So I do it. I do my job. And just as they depend on me to do my job, so too do editors, agents, and publishers depend on their contracted authors to do their jobs and uphold their end of a business agreement. So suck it up, put on your big boy/girl hat, and tell your muse to sit in the corner and shut the hell up.

You’ve got work to do.