Here’s the thing: my muse hates my Nanowrimo story. There. I admit it. She hates it. I don’t know why. It’s overall pretty consistent. The main characters have great chemistry. But for some reason, it’s just not sparking the same passion I expect from one of my stories. I’m just not compelled. Motivated. Excited. The way I know I should be. The way I am with most of my stories. I blame it on the muse. She’s just bored to tears. She wants something new, yet familiar. Something where she’s more in her field, I think.
It’s just a guess. Who ever really knows what’s going on in that crazy woman’s head? I certainly don’t. I only listen to her seductive whispers because, despite her masochistic tendencies, she’s got some interesting stories to tell.
Which is why I was not at all surprised when yesterday, while working on my Nano story, my muse perched herself on my shoulder and whispered a new secret into my ear. A very yummy, enticing little kernel. I fought her, told her I just couldn’t. Didn’t have the energy or time. Didn’t have the stamina. What does she think I am, a robot?
I tried to get her to focus. To lead me toward my next logical location in the story I was working on. She just laughed, that velvety, confident laugh of hers that rung through the air like the easy strum of a guitar. I rolled my eyes. Seriously, I said. I have to work on this story. I’m already like 3000 words behind for Nano. (That was a bit of a hyperbole, but I figured, who could appreciate something like that more than she could?) She shook her head. A wicked smirk crossed her face. And with one word, one mental image, my defenses crumbled.
Forbidden. *sigh* She knows what a sucker I am for that word. I love all things forbidden. I naturally rebel against things I’m told I can’t do. Not only is this story impossible right now, it’s just forbidden. It’s the tempting apple, luring me into the type of writing I’m comfortable with. The type I crave.
Then the image followed. A bustling ballroom, with high ceilings and sparkling lights. Flowers strung through reefs. Tiny lights looking like fireflies. Everyone dressed in their very best, fanciful masks covering their faces. Masks that represented their house, their status. Winter whites. Summer greens. Spring pastels and Autumn hues. Then his eyes, warm and jovial, met hers. Sparkling amber melting into icy blue. And I knew. I knew that very instant that the moment was monumental. And it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Because it too was forbidden.
*sigh* I can’t. I have no strength to fight her. She’s too strong compared to me. I have no willpower. What is a girl like me supposed to do? Now, the mystery people in my head have a name. When she whispers it into my ears, it sounds so right, like it had been there all along just waiting for me to discover it. They’re real. And they won’t go away.
Art by: fragmented— @ DeviantArt.