Today I have read a little more than two thirds of the story I intend to keep on writing on, at Camp WriMo during July. Yes! Continue writing on “The Solar Eclipse”.
So far I see good parts and bad parts, Excellent parts and lousy parts. I see many too wordy parts, and parts that need more. And it frightens me stiff. Will I really be able to continue this story?
Oh yes, I will!
The editing doesn’t bother me, that is just hard work. And I exaggerate when I say it frightens me stiff. But the story needs so much more and I do wonder what will happen next in the story. Now, when I sit here late Saturday evening, I have absolutely no idea how to continue writing.
But it will come to me. I have all the time I need, so skip the fact I have written so little during the last weeks. I expect my Muse to show up and whisper in my ears. Just as he has done many, many times before.
Yes. You read right. My Muse is male. His name is Albert and he is a tough one. Most times he looks like a forty-something years old biker with big muscles and a huge moustache covering most of his face. He always demands a large mug of black coffee and a bacon butty. The larger the better.
“Come on, come on,” he says and waves his hands towards his belly. I don’t have bacon now and wonder how he will react to hummus on the bread instead. And a tomato…
I hope he still will make me laugh, though.
Other times he comes as an old wise man. Almost like a monk in his appearance. And he bows to me with his palms put together and whispers positive affirmations in my ears, He prefers herbal tea or just plain water. It doesn’t seem like he has a name. Every time I ask, and that’s every time he comes, he just smiles at me and bows. Always bowing.
He is weird, but I like him. With him, I write the best. In my mind, I call him Yogi. He must be able to read my thoughts, because every time I think that name, he smiles at me and crinkles his face in a cooing laugh.
Some times a young woman has come. She claims to be me when I was young, but I don’t know… That sounds like nothing more than a fairy tale. I didn’t look like that when I was young, with big curly red hair and hazelnut eyes. I always wished I looked like that, so maybe it was me in another time, in another life?
She is the quirky one. The one who gives me the odd characters and the foul words, And the urge to dare myself.
So who will be here, in two days time?
Or will I meet another one?
A new Muse that inspires and make me run
my fingers over the keyboard til all is done.