Oh, God ... NOW You've Done It!

So, last night, I'm innocently flipping though my Facebook groups, minding my own business, when my poor eyes are suddenly assaulted by a post by Stephenie Masen:

TillTheWorldEndsContest - FanFiction.Net

www.fanfiction.net 

Suddenly, a two hundred pound plot bunny, ridden by my cackling muse, burst through the door and knocked me to the floor.

"No sleep for you!" my muse giggled. "You're going to WRITE! Now! No, I don't care if you're working on something else. Save your work. Exit. Open a new document. Type, type like you've never typed before!"

So, yeah ... Guess what I'm doing?

I'm not crazy when I talk about my muse like she's a real person (at least I don't think I am.) Since I sat down at my keyboard last October to begin writing Compulsion she hasn't let me do anything else. I'm not kidding. I've gone down from reading two or three books per day to ... nothing. I haven't read for pleasure (aside from the occasional quick FF story) since October, 2011. And God, do I miss it. I was so excited about Skyrim coming out ... I've played it for less than an hour. (My darling True Love asked me if I was unhappy with the game. No, it's loads of fun, I just can't tear myself away from the keyboard.)

If I try to read, she sits besides me and seductively whispers into my mind about what my characters should be doing. As I'm just about to drift off to sleep, she helpfully reminds me of something I forgot to put into the story, making me leap from the bed and dash back into the office to begin typing again.

From what I hear, we writers are all cursed with forgetfulness. We can remember more about what our characters are doing than what's going on in our own real lives. I'm especially afflicted by this. I literally wander into traffic. Poor True Love has to be my minder, yanking me back onto the sidewalk, reminding me to eat, reminding me occasionally that I do have real-life people around me who miss me when I get lost in one of my fervors.

Now that I'm making the plunge into Real Author Land, he's acting as my manager. He's the one who made the appointment with the lawyer and explained what I was doing when I became too tongue-tied and shy to talk while we were in the office. It was him who prodded me gently to remember to sign the contracts so he could send them off, and this morning, made the appointment with the photographer for my promotional materials/book jacket photo.

Later today, he'll probably ask if I've eaten yet, and remind me to call my mother (who called last week and left a message on my machine to say she hadn't got the note with the ransom demand yet, but she'd be willing to pay up to $224.38 for my safe return, all the cash she had on hand. Yeah. Now you know where I get my quirky sense of humor.) My boss will probably call with instructions for next week, since she's going to be out of town, and she'll sigh, knowing that I'll forget what she said within five minutes of hearing it, so I'll arrive at work to find Post-Its all over the office with step-by-step instructions. She knows me well. My dog will probably come by at some point to lay her head on my lap and give a pitiful sigh. She doesn't understand the irresistible siren call of my muse.

I'm telling all of them to blame Stephenie. It's all her fault!

Because my world has shrunk to the size of my keyboard again, thanks to Stephenie Masen.



UPDATE: The story topped out at 8,394 words, which may change a bit as I go through the edits. The story will be posted when the contest opens on the 19th.