Last year I came home from Cancun filled with story ideas and character/muse conversations. It. Was. Great. (Read that post and see the pretty pictures here.)
I’d been looking forward to my upcoming vacation in this wonderfully-sunny, awesome-Tom-Collins-making country for that very reason. Hardcore editing on Lucas’s Story had completely depleted my creativity and was slowly pecking away at my writer’s confidence.
But this year I came back with nada. (Well, except for a bit too much sun on my forehead.) I was bummed. I’d been counting on my week off of all-things-writing-and-marketing to give a much-needed swift kick in the ass to Muse.
I was reading Ella’s latest post on the way home from the airport—Husband was driving—and her words did what a week of abstinence couldn’t.
I knew the exact feeling Ella had when she learned the secrets of her story because I’d felt that way before.
The spark of an idea. The moment when a character whispers a new direction for the story you didn’t even think of. The excitement.
Her epiphanies had sparked the writer juice in my mind and it was fast making its way to the pit of my stomach. I wanted to jump up and down in my seat. I didn’t want to hold back the huge smile on my face or the giddy laughter that threatened to escape. And most of all, I wanted to start writing and editing. I wanted my fingers on the keyboard inmediatamente.
But, alas, suitcases had to be emptied, eight loads of laundry completed, and stomachs craving American food seen to, but then, then … nothing will stop me.