The part-time writer has a limited supply of time. Although I try to be consistent with the piece of my day dedicated to writing, I also find myself the victim of inspiration. I mentioned in an earlier post that I’d finished four novels. I’ve begun far many more than that.
The works I abandon, like children I love, are never intended to be neglected. I write by inspiration. Writing is like having a favorite food; if you eat it every day it soon loses its intensity. Most of what I write reflects my current Muse. Apart from days when I just have to force myself, my writing is based on that charmed idea at present in my head, beguiling me with possibilities.
I’m currently working on a new novel. I began it about two weeks ago. At the time I was in the middle of another novel. Well, “middle” is a bit generous. I’d actually written the first chapter and a half, and I’m still in love with the idea. Like a wanton man, I’ll find my way back eventually and hope she’s still waiting for me.
That novel I began in the midst of a flurry of short story writing that took place in the midst of another novel that was some thirty chapters along. I can’t help but believe each of these works has promise and I can’t write fast enough to get all the words recorded for each of them.
In my fantasy world the professional writer has the luxury of taming her or his Muse. I am too indulgent to say “no” to inspiration. The only solution in sight is to write a best seller so that someone will give me the time to finish that next damned night with my current favorite Muse.
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