It’s little secret that my muse, whom I lovingly call Brain, has been out on walkabout since I lost my job. Between the stress of job hunting and the stress of Pride, she couldn’t handle the pressure and took off. It happens. Muses are fragile creatures, after all.
There have been signs of her return, however. A small plot fix here, a bit of dialog there. Then there came the deluge.
It was yesterday, when I was meant to be working on an edit, and suddenly there was Brain, rattling off ideas at a hundred miles per hour, scribbling notes and shoving them at me, stamping her combat booted feet to get my attention.
It would be nice if she could focus on the stories we already have in progress, but I’ll take words of any sort after this drought. She seems to have picked up a half an idea for a story that we started ages ago and has been busily world-building around the idea since her return. I have about a thousand words hastily written to try to contain it.
Meanwhile, Brain is dancing through my brain in her combat boots and purple tutu, swinging her strand of cheap psuedo-pearls, painting word pictures for me to capture and put on paper.
It’s good to have her home. And yes, I realize I am a little bit on the crazy side of normal.