Ah, dame inspiration is a fickle woman.  She’ll whisper in your ear and fill your head with amazing notions and ideas.  Oh, she’ll insist you can write your novel with her suggestions..but it’s really the most lethal of come-ons.  The minute you try and use her notions, she’ll pull a knife on you and stab you in the back.  Then she’ll laugh as the plot of your story slips through your hands like sand or quicksilver.

I mean this figuratively, of course.   Take my latest attempt at writing a novel, “Negri Jilts Chaplin.”  I thought I had a solid plot, sort of a “Rear Window” meets “Blackmail” meets “50 Shades of gray” (for the bondage theme, not for the crappy book itself).  I sweated out an outline–more on outlines next time–and thought I had a pretty good and solid plot with some nice twists and a surprise ending. Dame Inspiration applauded and smile at me.  Hell, I didn’t even feel the blade go into my ribs.  Again…figuratively.

I wrote the first Chapter–hated it.  Wrote it again–better, but unconvincing.  Tried one more time–hated it even worse than before.  Suddenly, my carefully crafted plot has gone PFFT–fallen to pieces like a bad soufflé–leaving me to ponder: “Wot happen’?”  Suddenly I have no interest in writing THAT story and I find myself adrift with a great title and no plot.  Woe is me!  That dirty-so-and-so…she always does this to me!.

Yet, I know as sure as I will die trying to write this novel, that she will come to me again–whisper a great idea–I will go, “YEAH, that’s the exact story I want to tell…it’ll make one great f-ing book!”  Then she will smile at me.

I better spot the knife this time.

Figuratively speaking.

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