My Muse Done Gone South

by third planet living

So… I’ve started writing a new play.  Which actually means that I sit in front of my laptop for hours, staring at twelve pages of dialogue and wondering what in the world the play is about, and how I’m going to harness all of these half-formed ideas and emotions, and mold them into something that doesn’t completely suck. Back down to six pages.

I don’t know what it is, but every time I sit down to write, suddenly I get the desire to do all of the things I’ve been putting off doing.  I notice how dusty things are.  I get hungry or have an urgent need for tea.  You should see me right now, I have a bowl of fresh biscuits and gravy balancing precariously on my bed, a book of poetry open at my side, and an episode of The Golden Girls paused on my screen because all of a sudden, I just had to stop everything and sing Papa Come Quick. Meanwhile, my sad little script is minimized down in my dock and not a word has been written.

I need more discipline.

Wednesday morning I awoke with the thought that I’d get more writing done if I worked somewhere other than in my bedroom.  So I went down to the Pannikin, had a short conversation with the lovely Amanda Morrow, scribbled some notes in a notebook, tapped my pen on the table, on my forehead, against my teeth, rolled it between my fingers, spun it between my fingers like a little baton, wrapped it up in a lock of hair, held it between my lip and nose like a mustache…  And stared at my script.  But in a fun, zesty atmosphere with Nancy Sinatra playing in the background.  Sigh.  And Grr.

Today I went to a different coffee shop, but some girls next to me were talking about ferrets and chihuahuas, and it was really quite fascinating.

It will come.  I keep hoping it will come in a dream, but even if I don’t get that lucky, it will come.

And if it never does…. well hell, maybe I still have a bright future singing Bonnie Raitt covers.

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