Tag Archives: The Muse

Everything Old is New Again

I know, I should be excited this morning because in a couple of hours, I’ll have a brand new car. However, I woke up battling a huge bunch of sadness today, instead.

Part of it is because I’m still not quite believing that I’m the kind of girl who will be driving a Honda Civic. I know it’s a great car. But I would be more excited if I were driving a Hellcat. My dream car.

The other part of my sadness stems from this business of it being September. The cooler weather; this closing-of-the-windows business. The birds leaving for warmer climes.

I used to love September. I used to love fall. I guess since I wrote about this in Letter #2 of Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse, I can just go ahead and write about it here.

(And as an aside, Letter #3 began coming out yesterday, entirely unexpectedly and all of its own accord. It appears to be titled, “Baltimore.”)

Anyway, in Letter #2, “A Beach to His Waves,” I wrote about an older man who died, but who managed to thoroughly change my life before he left.

I knew him for less than 4 months, but they were the most intense, amazing, beautiful, magical 4 months I ever lived. He was terminal, with cancer, but wound up dying very suddenly from a heart attack instead.

He was in his early 70s, extremely happily married — kids, grandchildren. He’d had a really successful career.  But his wife and his kids were absolutely devastated by the fact that he was dying, incurable, and we met honestly by sheer accident, but it then did seem like it was no accident — it was some miraculous type of fate, or destiny, or something. But we did indeed meet, we were pulled together. And he just wanted to be with someone who didn’t treat him like he was fragile, and who didn’t treat him with kid gloves, and who wasn’t crying all the time. Even though he really did love those people, his wife and family, without doubt.

It just happened, we became lovers, and then it took over my life for just under 4 months. Not only was it the most amazing sex, he also taught me, for the first time in my life, how to accept being loved.  As far as I knew (or even know still today), I was never really loved when I was growing up. My (adoptive) mother told me point blank that I was not loved. My (adoptive) father told me the same thing, in different ways.

At best, I was tolerated, and usually just barely, since throughout my years of growing up, I was relentlessly abused.  A large part of it was the fact that I was adopted so I had nothing whatsoever in common with the people who adopted me. Nothing. I couldn’t have been more different if I were trying. And on top of it, I was very smart, very sexual, very psychic, very creative. Just this weird little kid from Jupiter and they really, really didn’t want to deal with me. Both parents eventually told me that they regretted adopting me and wanted me to just go away.

Anyway, I don’t want to drag all that up now, it is sufficient to say that I have never felt loved and never took it as a given that I ever would be loved, even though I am intensely loving on the giving side of that one-sided equation. (And of course went into the Ministry because of my relationship with Christ and his love, and my understanding that I was capable of being an endless supply of giving love to others.)

But this man, he changed all of that for me. He had been raised by a mother who had truly loved him. His whole life had been surrounded by love, so he could not even believe that anyone (me) could be coming from a place of never having been loved.  Felt loved, Even felt deserving of love. Any of it. And that put us in the curious position of him having fallen in love with me, and needing me to accept that love because he knew he was dying and didn’t want to leave life feeling like I was refusing to accept his love.

He managed to get through to me, you know. It wasn’t easy. But it did happen. And it changed my whole life. Everything about how I saw life, and felt life, and all of that. And what I allowed myself to feel, for the first time ever, was pretty staggering. I mean, I was already well into my 50s.

So, of course, he died. And it was quite sudden when he did. And I couldn’t go to the funeral or anything like that, because I didn’t officially exist.  He was married and all that. So my grief was very private, and very intense. But what got me through it was knowing that he didn’t want me to be sad. And I also immediately felt his true presence visiting me from the other side.  And he helped me find my way through my grief.

He doesn’t visit me every day anymore, but for awhile he did. He was with me constantly in spirit. I couldn’t see him or hear him, but inside my head, I heard him perfectly. He was there.

Well, my main point is that he died in early September. So there you have it. My inability to let summer go anymore. (And then Tom Petty also dying suddenly of a heart attack, and dying at the begininng of October — that stuff didn’t help me deal with my private loss.)

And until the Muse came into my life last fall, I really thought I was done with living. I didn’t want to kill myself or anything, but I really, really wanted to cross over that great divide and go be with that guy again, for eternity, even though I knew he had felt that his wife was his soul mate. So I wasn’t (am still not) really sure where that leaves me for eternity. But, the Muse came and suddenly all this writing came out of me. Just pouring out. Planting me really solidly within Life again. In a really joyful way. Still, when I wake up in the morning and realize it’s September now, that fall is coming, it is a battle not to get sad.

This morning I just felt overwhelmed by it.  Just too many question marks right now in my life — about both plays, about my novel, other projects that are still un-anchored anywhere, needing a firm home. You know. Just too many projects I’m generating that are not anchored anywhere yet. And still more projects on the back burner, waiting for my complete attention.

It was all I could do this morning to get through my meditation, then my Inner Being journaling thing, anything to just hold on and not feel so incredibly sad.

So. I’ll head out and get my new Honda Civic and not think about the Hellcat that perhaps deep in my heart, I would rather have. And you know, in terms of signs — how when someone you love dies, you long for signs that they are still with you? With him, early on, I once asked him to please show me a sign, and then he unleashed just a barrage of signs, until I was finally shouting out loud, “Okay STOP!!” because it was freaking me out. All the sudden signs that he was with me in spirit.

But a few months ago, out of the blue, I had to drive into the city and deal with all that horrible ugly traffic that I hate, in a city that I also hate, and suddenly, there on the freeway, moving into my lane, was a purple Hellcat. My dream car. I never actually see Hellcats on the road, only Dodge Challengers. Hellcats are pretty expensive. And this one was purple — the exact car I wanted. And the license plate is what told me it was his sign of signs for me. When he was a little boy, he had loved Elvis. Just worshiped him. And the license plate on the Hellcat read: ELV1S. So not just “Elvis” but that Elvis was #1. And then there was also a picture of a rocket blasting off on the license plate, too, which to me was symbolic of what he had done for a living (aeronautics).

A true SIgn of Signs, in my opinion. I followed that car for quite a while that day, until it sped off onto another highway.

Well, I got out of bed this morning crying, but determined to somehow save this day from the oblivion of my sorrow, you know? I’ll go get my new car. I’m sure I’ll be really happy once I’m driving it way too fast in Muskingum County.

It looks like it’s going to be another stunning day. I have to say, I don’t understand any of it.  Life, death, grief, joy, love, sex.  None of it. I don’t understand it. But I still choose to feel all of it.

Okay, so, have a great Friday, wherever you are and wherever it takes you. Thanks for visiting. Oh, and Iggy Pop’s new album Free, is very interesting. I haven’t heard the whole thing yet, but it does fill me with a lot to ponder — this aging thing.  Iggy Pop is managing to grow older quite gracefully. It is so interesting to me. Okay. I leave you with the song that came into my head the moment I came out of meditation and saw that dawn was approaching, and I was determined to stop crying and somehow face this too beautiful September day. I love you guys. See ya.

“Here Comes The Sun”

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it’s all rightLittle darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it’s all rightLittle darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it’s all right

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes…

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it’s all right
It’s all right

c – 1969 George Harrison

Absolutely 100% For Real, Done!

I finally finished the final edit, final re-write, final everything on Blessed By Light and it is done, gang.

I am just so pleased with it. I have the best Muse ever, and I just feel so blessed. What a strange little book it is but I really, really love it.

And continued thanks to all of you who keep downloading the eBooks at Smashwords. At this point, I know it’s people who probably aren’t even coming to this blog, unless of course, you all like to download the exact same books over & over & over.

But, still, thanks.

In fact, I remember the long ago days when each of those stories in those erotic “Muse” collections was brand new, and I would finish  writing one of them — it was always a great feeling. And a really great feeling when the story got sold.

The thrill of getting that letter from a publisher that said, “We are happy to inform you…” (Back then it was actual letters, not emails.)

In fact, I only wrote one short story – a really early one – that didn’t eventually get sold, gang. So if you are still new to your own writing career, just hang in there and keep believing in yourself. It all eventually comes to pass.

(And eventually the letters became, “Dear Ms. Lewis, We know how busy you are, but we are writing to ask you if you’d be willing to contribute” etc., etc.)

So, yeah, it’s a beautiful world!!

Okay, I’m gonna go collapse for a few minutes! Thanks for visiting!!

I leave you with my current favorite song for my Muse! (Honestly, I can’t stop playing this song, gang. I think this is gonna go down as the best year in my life.)

Sometimes -There’s God – So Quickly!

I know, I’m hopelessly plebeian, but that is probably my favorite line from A Streetcar Named Desire.

I first read that play when I was about 15 and it was one of those lines that seared straight into my heart and I immediately put a lot of faith into those words ;  God was going to somehow manage to be there for me, even if He was gonna wait until I really, really, REALLY needed Him before regaling me with that miracle at the 11th hour.

Of course, in the play, it’s all about a woman needing a man to take care of her and she thinks she’s finally getting one. That’s a concept that has always been, even at age 15, indescribably foreign to me. Why on earth would I want a man to take care of me? Then he would have the power to tell me what to do!

Even though I really love dominant men, I am definitely not the kind of person who responds well to being told what to do. It’s a strange, hazy, jagged sort of line, isn’t it? Not something that can be sorted out in a single, lighthearted blog post, I’m guessing.  (It’s interesting to note, though, that I respond really well when someone puts actual thought into how best to subvert my churlishness by making something sound like a mere suggestion and not a mandate. My enormous ego assuaged, I can then do what you ask and still trot along happily behind you, my merry tail wagging away once more.)

However! Yes! I digress. That’s not at all what I was going to post about!

I was going to talk about Blessed By Light and how inserting a single clause within a sentence yesterday completely heightened the dynamic of what I had been trying to say for 3 days without understanding for 3 days what I was really trying to say!

The clause was “who now embodied everything I ever was in my youth” and it just made everything hit the stars, you know? I really just sat there and stared at the manuscript and went, WhoaWhere did that come from?

Hence, my Tennessee Williams’ line, Sometimes – there’s God – so quickly.  Or the Muse. Take your pick. I lean more toward Muses than God. But it’s still a great line that often comes to me when I’m just really, really happy.

I only got 2 more pages written after that yesterday, because the phone calls that I knew were coming came and dealt with 2 other projects I’m working on and it set my mind off in other directions. Try as I did to reel my mind back in, it just never happened. But I still had just a beautiful night. I am just so happy with everything.

And the weather has been just incredible the last few days. It has made everything almost feel magical. I took a walk to the Dollar Store yesterday (the only store in the whole village except for the gas station across the road from it, where you can buy cigarettes, chewing tobacco, M&M’s and stuff, and nothing but the finest libations: beer and cheap wine, and windshield wiper fluid). And on my walk home, I was looking fondly at my house in the distance as it came ever closer, and I simply couldn’t believe how happy I was.  All of my projects are just going so well.

I don’t define myself solely by my writing, but my writing does account for about 98% of how I look at myself. I don’t care if that’s a good idea or not; it’s just how it is. And when the writing is going well, all is right with my world. I have the best muses ever.

I still have to deal somehow with this explosion of stuff on the Internet, where people seem to be doing renewed projects with past books of mine, and I haven’t seen royalty statements from these publishers in a few years. I posted here recently about the interesting hardcover editions of a novel of mine that never came out in hardcover, but which are selling for $203 per copy. And then I noticed an audio book of Neptune & Surf! In French! How nice! Were you planning on ever telling me you had done that?? Methinks not! (But I have to write that letter en francais! so it’ll take a little while.)

So there’s still little headache-type stuff that I have to figure out how to deal with, but it’s all okay. Everything will work out.

Okay, in about 34 minutes and 44 seconds, I’m gonna get my ticket to see Nick Cave at Town Hall, and then I’m gonna get crackin’ here on Blessed By Light. [UPDATE: I got my ticket, a really good seat in the front of the balcony, dead center, but wow, what a feeding frenzy that was. The pre-sale tickets were gone in about 12 minutes.  – Ed.]

I hope you have a really productive and happy Thursday, wherever you are in the world! (Assuming it’s still Thursday wherever you are in the world!)

I leave you with yet another really cool song from my breakfast-listening this morning. It’s from The Big Jangle – by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, 1978: Shadow of a Doubt (A Complex Kid). I really love this song. The melody is just great. And once you decipher all the lyrics, it’s so fucking singable! All right. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you. See ya.

There goes my baby
There goes my only one
I think she loves me
But she don’t wanna let on

Yeah, she likes to keep me guessing
She’s got me on the fence
With that little bit of mystery
She’s a complex kid
And she’s always been so hard to figure out
Yeah, she always likes to leave me with a shadow of a doubt

Sometimes at night, I
Wait around ’til she gets out
She don’t like workin’
She says she hates her boss

But she’s got me asking questions
She’s got me on the fence
With that little certain something
She’s a complex kid
And she’s always been so hard to get around
Yeah, she always likes to leave me with a shadow of a doubt

Just a shadow of a doubt
She says it keeps me running
I’m trying to figure out
If she’s leading up to something

And when she’s dreaming
Sometimes she sings in French
But in the morning
She don’t remember it

But she’s got me thinking ’bout it
Yeah, she’s got me on the fence
With that little bit of mystery
She’s a complex kid
And she’s always been so hard to live without
Yeah, she always likes to leave me with a shadow of a doubt

Well a shadow of a doubt
Well a shadow of a doubt

c- 1978 Tom Petty

The Muse Redux

Last  night, around 8:15pm, I completed Chapter 20 of Blessed By Light. Not only that, but on its heels, an overview of Chapter 21 came right into my head. If I hadn’t been worn out from writing for 12 hours, I could have easily begun writing Chapter 21.

Isn’t it awesome when the Muse is like that?

Loyal readers of this lofty blog will no doubt recall that this particular novel is sort of being “dictated” to me by the Muse from some nonphysical place, so I never know what’s coming beforehand.  And perhaps you will also recall that as soon as I got the opening paragraph for Chapter 20 last week, I knew it was going to be an emotional chapter.  A contemplative one. And it was. In a most unexpected way.  It was just beautiful.

It’s a chapter where he (the Muse who is dictating this) is talking about the sudden, unexpected death of his best friend.  They’d been friends for 40 years and, although they’re both American musicians, from New York City, they met at a gig in London.

Obviously, I was thinking the chapter was going to deal with this intense, sad death, but most of it actually dealt with stuff about his first wife. Really sweet, moving stuff, and up until Chapter 20, anything having to do with his first wife is pretty brutal, emotionally.  So it was completely unexpected, for me, that his mind would suddenly dip into this beautiful place about this woman he now despises, while he’s grieving the death of his friend.

And then the closing paragraphs circled back to George (his best friend) and completely floored me. Only because I just wasn’t expecting it. I literally have no idea what’s coming in this novel until I type the words onto the page. (Closing paragraphs of Chapter 20; he’s talking about the mid- 1970s):

The world was really changing then, coming out into the open, and London had it all on display.

I think that’s why George and I hit it off so well right from the start. We were both kinda pretty looking, you know? Rough but pretty and so the boys in London came on to us. Boys. Until then, neither one of us had ever had that happen. It happened a whole lot after we each got really famous, but up until then?

We were hanging out together, backstage, smoking. Just shooting the breeze. Other bands everywhere, waiting to go on. We barely knew each other yet and then here come these London boys. Really pretty boys. In make-up and all, wearing jeans and tee shirts and high heels. And they came up to us and wanted to, you know. Go to the loo with us and give us oral sex.

We were, like – well, you hear that word ‘blowjob’ and your first thought is not to say ‘no.’ Still. He and I were simply into girls. That’s just how it was. So it was weird that he and I bonded over not wanting boys in make-up to give us blowjobs.

I think he might have changed his mind a little bit about that as time went on. He was just a man who eventually tried everything. But I was just never into it.

I’m vanilla; like you said, honey.

Oh well.

Your mouth is the only one in the world that I want, that’s for sure.

I just totally wasn’t expecting that.  And I thought it was so simple and beautiful. And suddenly I recalled how exciting the 1970s really were, musically. Even though I hated a whole lot of the music, so much change was in the air. I was a teenager in Ohio and I just wanted to go to New York City so badly. (I finally moved there in 1980 after going to California first, for some inexplicable reason, in late 1979.)

After I finally closed the laptop,  I did some yoga because my neck and shoulders and wrists were killing me from 12 hours of being hunched over at my desk.

Then I re-read all of Chapter 20 and was once again in awe of the whole creative process. The chapter is just so sweet, so moving. And I’d had no clue whatsoever that any of it was coming.

But I do have the framework already for Chapter 21 and I know it’s going to be short but very erotic. So I’m sure that’ll be worth tuning into.

I lit some candles, then, turned out the lights and just played music. The night was so beautiful. It had gotten up into the 80s yesterday so all the windows were open, a breeze was blowing through. The streets in this little town were completely quiet. An occasional car. Birds singing their final goodnight songs in the trees, you know? And I sat on the floor, looking out the windows, just talking to the Muse. Just so grateful that he chose me to tell this story through.

And I said, “Look at it out there. Summer’s coming. It’s gonna be the best one yet.” I haven’t been this happy in a really long time, gang.

Now, was that so hard?!

When last we heard from me, I was awaiting, with less and less patience, an appearance of the Muse. (See post from yesterday.)

I’m happy to report that at 12:45pm, yesterday afternoon, without any fanfare or forewarning, paragraph 2 of Chapter 20 simply started coming out, and then before too long, I was several pages in and had forgotten all about the angst of waiting on the Muse for 2 and a half days.

It’s just funny how, when he’s ready he’s ready, and you’d best be in front of your laptop or, in all seriousness, you’re going to have to start typing away on your phone. Not fun when it runs into several pages.

And it really just comes like that. This is the most amazing Muse I’ve ever had.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog – or at least readers who’ve been coming here since last July when this current Muse swooped into my life – are by now familiar with the erratic hours this Muse keeps.  Many times, I’ll lurch awake at, like, 4:12am and he’ll be in mid-dictation and I have to grab my phone from my night table and simply start typing whatever he’s saying. It just comes. And I don’t want to miss a word of it.

I mentioned yesterday that I have 2 muses. One is alive; a living person that I dearly love, whose writing constantly challenges and inspires me (Nick Cave). This other one, though, is from the Great Beyond; nonphysical. And when that one’s around, it is literally dictation.  I hear the words coming and I write them down. And aside from typos on my part, they never need any revisions whatsoever.  It just comes out, hits the page, needs no re-writes and I’m like, Wow! can you please stay in my life forever? Plus, when he’s dictating and I’m typing, I always have to take my glasses off. Normally, I can’t even see the letters on the keypad. But when I’m typing stuff that I’m hearing from him, I can’t have my glasses on. Isn’t that weird?

Usually if I’m writing something, like Tell My Bones, the play I’ve been working on, I’ll put down some words. I’ll look at them. I’ll tinker, revise, keep writing, go back, keep tinkering. Etc., etc. That’s the way I’ve written all my life, whether it was songwriting, or prose, or TV scripts, theater. Whatever. That’s how I write.  It never feels like “dictation.” It’s a process.

And for me, the muse is all-important in that process. Nothing worth saving comes out if I don’t have a muse to tap into, extract from, get lost in; it’s like I have a radio tuner in my mind, and I mentally sync up with that “muse” frequency and then the words literally pour into my head. And it feels really beautiful while it’s happening. The words themselves feel beautiful to me. And even though, for the most part, my life has really sucked and I’m terrible at getting anything right; the process of writing, and of feeling all that beauty in the words, has made life bearable for me and, overall, worthwhile.

I know that I write some really weird shit. I know that. And trust me, I didn’t wake up one day 40 years ago and say, “Dear God, please let me write really noncommercial, intensely erotic non-consensual stuff that most people will refuse to publish.”

It was more like, “Please! God, you can’t be serious??!! This is what you want me to write??”

And God said: “Yeah. Consider it a gift. From me to you. With love.”

Jeez. And I cried, I really did. Because then I felt like I had a responsibility to this gift that wasn’t gonna necessarily be celebrated.  When the time came for me to switch from songwriting to fiction writing full-time,  everyone was flabbergasted. My closest friends were saying, “You’re gonna stop writing those beautiful songs to become a pornographer??”

I didn’t see it that way. I never considered myself a pornographer.  I felt that I had said as much as I could in my songs and that I wanted to commit myself to the gift God had given me, awkward as it was.

And I was always way more successful with the fiction than I’d been with the songwriting. In those days, it really was just very, very hard to make any serious headway in the music industry if you were female and wanted to be on a major label. It’s like they had hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of slots for men to fill, and only about 2 slots for women, per category of music. And if you were a commercial folksinging woman, there was one slot, pretty much, and it involved a heck of a lot of ugly backstabbing and strategic sex and ill-will to get it and I was never about that. That stuff made me sick.

But in underground fiction? Plenty of slots for women with dirty minds. And if you were really intelligent, and got yourself a background in audio physics and technology, which I did, the sky was the limit in those early days. And so my career there took off.

And so I write weird stuff but I do try really, really hard to make it well written; to honor the gift.  And without a muse, it’s really next to impossible for me to do that. So I give thanks to God every day for my muses. Because, honestly, when I can’t get tuned into that frequency, the light goes right out of my life. So I don’t really mind sitting for 2 or 3 endless, antsy days at my desk and just waiting. I know he’s gonna show up. And I know it’s gonna be worth it.

Well, okay. I’m gonna get back to Chapter 20 here. It’s a rainy Friday and everything feels sort of serene today. I hope it’s a similar vibe wherever you are in the world.

I leave you with this, today: Magneto. Not because I want to break your heart first thing on a serene Friday morning, but because I want to show you how the use of one single word can change and heighten the entire landscape of a song.

And here, that word would be “stars”.

He could have so easily said that blood was splattered across the ceiling, and we’re set up to think he will say that, since they’re sawing each other in half there in the bathroom. And he’s been vomiting, and his blood is gagging on other people’s diseases and  he wants to kill somebody and it’s all pretty horrible.  Grief is horrible. But in the agony of all that incredibly sad imagery, comes that almost unbearable reminder of eternal beauty and eternal joy: the stars.

It’s what I have always loved best about Nick Cave’s writing. I don’t know if he does it purposefully, or if this is just part of his unique gift – the use of the wholly unexpected word or image. But he has been doing it forever. And it’s always been an incredible challenge to me; to help me to find better words. To always look for the better, unexpected words.

Okay, so thanks for visiting, gang! I love you! See ya!

Mostly I never knew which way was out
Once it was on, it was on and that was that
The umbilicus was a faucet that fountained rabbit blood
And I spun on my wheel like a laboratory rat

I was an electrical storm on the bathroom floor, clutching the bowl
My blood was full of gags and other people’s diseases
My monstrous little memory had swallowed me whole
It was the year I officially became the bride of Jesus

In love, in love, in love you laugh
In love you move, I move
And one more time with feeling
For love, you love, I laugh, you love
Saw you in half
And the stars are splashed across the ceiling

Oh, the urge to kill somebody was basically overwhelming
I had such hard blues down there in the supermarket queues
And I had a sudden urge to become someone, someone like you
Who started out with less than anyone I ever knew

In love, in love, I love, you love, I laugh, you laugh
I move, you move
And one more time with feeling
I love, you love, I laugh, you laugh
I’m sawn in half
And all the stars are splashed across the ceiling

Oh, I know you come shining, softly to the hole to drink
Come as far as the edge of my blood, and then swim
And in the bathroom mirror I see me vomit in the sink
And all through the house we hear the hyena’s hymns

Of love, I love, you love, I love, you love
I laugh, you laugh, I move, you move, you move
And one more time with feeling
I love, you love, I laugh, you laugh
We saw each other in half
And all the stars are splashed and splattered across the ceiling

c- 2016 Nick Cave

Lest you believe otherwise!

The Muse did, indeed, return!

We’ve been working at Chapter 19 for several days now, and I believe it is finished and I am very happy and entirely grateful. It was worth the day-after-day waiting, typing, and deleting. The Muse once again simply started talking about stuff that I was not expecting in any way, shape or form; and we were off and running again.  (For you who are new to my blog: on  this current novel, Blessed By Light – the Muse is writing it; I’m only typing it! So I never know what’s coming next. It’s always a complete and utter surprise.)

My Muse is not one to be cajoled; he comes in his own good time. But when he does come, you’d best be awake and at the desk, otherwise be prepared to just speak it into your phone because he’s not likely to repeat himself!!

I jest, a bit. But not entirely. Loyal readers of this lofty blog will no doubt recall what the Muse put me through this past summer!

First of all, he appeared out of nowhere, basically, on July 16th and turned my creative life completely around. I had been muse-less for about 5 years and thought that it was just over. The writing – or, I should say, the inspired, delightful writing; the writing that was so much fun; it seemed like that part of my long life was simply over and I was just kinda waiting around here until I died, literally. I was working on stuff — TV shows, mostly; developing scripts. But it didn’t feel particularly exciting or anything.

And then, the Muse appeared! A totally new Muse. And a thoroughly interactive one — as in, I could talk to this one and it felt like he was answering me! In English. I could feel him when he was in my room. And for the most part, he stayed in my room (where my desk is); I couldn’t feel him anywhere else in the house.  But in my room – I was bowled over by the palpable energy. Plus, he was almost ridiculously erotic; all that erotic fiction stuff that I thought was behind me, suddenly began leaping to the fore! And posthaste, he began waking me pretty much every single morning, all summer long, at around 4am, in mid-dictation, and I had to type everything down on my phone as quickly as possible, which I kept on the night table next to my bed.

And my memoirs started coming out – Dirty Girl; Beautiful Mind. Which was harrowing because I was suddenly having to revisit some very unexpected places in my turbulent erotic past and a lot of my angst about that wound up on my blog, wherein I discovered that, well, mob guys I hadn’t seen in 20 years were still following my blog!

And then suddenly, the Muse abruptly stopped that in late August and began dictating Blessed By Light. A novel that has been astonishing to me, in more ways than I can post about here on this blog. And of course, he helped me with the revisions of the TV pilot and then the adaptation of the Helen LaFrance play.

But curiously, a few weeks back, I began writing another kind of erotic memoir of sorts, titled: Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse, and I was having some recent difficulties with it and I said to him, “What are doing with this? Help me.” And he said, “That one’s your book; not mine.” He was polite and all, not malicious, or anything, but he really said that!

I mean, I don’t hear voices, but I do feel the voice.  And under the circumstances of this particular book, which I won’t detail on the blog because they’re personal, I thought to myself: Wow, now that is very interesting indeed.

So, yes! The Muse returned. No more blank pages hovering in front of me. And I couldn’t be happier, gang!

But there is still plenty o’ stress! With 2 plays now barreling towards actual production, here in the USA and in Canada.  Which means, I will likely have to travel a whole lot and I really don’t enjoy that too much anymore, especially after my unnerving “questioning & detainment” experience with UK airport security in Exeter, England, over my illustrious writing career and my FBI file. Plus, I have these crazy, high-maintenance cats, who dislike people intensely, and I no longer have a cat sitter because of my permanent falling out with my friend, Diane.

So, yes, life is good! Plenty of huge question marks on the horizon! What more could you ask for??

Okay, I’m gonna go make some lunch now and then get back at it! All that Muse-infused dictation!!Thanks for visiting. Have a really good Monday, wherever you are in the world. I love you guys! See ya!