It’s bad enough my muse has deserted me this whole year. It’s so frustrating to want to write and almost writing, but the words won’t come because your muse is looking through the want ads to find a new place to work; or they bet on the Patriots in the Superbowl and has been p’d off ever since.
This is your brain. This is your brain without your muse. This is how impressed my muse is with me.
Then I got 2 reviews this week for my fanfic novel, The Race of Cain. The first is from an another amateur writer whose review is so impressively written, I can’t imagine what her stories are like. And it picked up my spirits so much to read things such as:
I must admit I was reluctant to open the story – not because of anything specific, I just prefer a different genre. This time, however, I couldn’t resist for some reason and now I’m happy, I did read it. I won’t impose by any sort of praise, I do not feel I’m the right person to make rulings. I can only say this, when I read novels like that, I cannot help but feel dreadfully inferior. Not because of the language, though it is undeniably nice to read something written with such high technical quality. Not because of the plot, though numerous words can be said about its ingenuity. But because of the uncanny way of getting under my skin when I read this. I mean I do not even like this genre-era, yet I feel unable to go away, until I’ve finished to the very last word. It is a rare and most valuable gift to get people so transfixed, especially when they do not want to be. The tiny psychological details are very plausible and catchy. Saavik-Valeris conversation is incredibly well done, top spot, in my opinion. Anyway, I can see you loved writing it. It’s only fair people loved reading it.
No wonder I was blown away, right? Anyone would be. Then I got the other review. It had less to say, but what it did say was equally powerful or even more because it was a professional writer with a number of successful books. She called it: “a good story”, “extremely strong”, and a novel that deserves to be on the shelves in every bookstore. Even the warning about the near impossible odds of actually getting printed didn’t bring me down. I already knew the odds, especially for the one genre that had a regime change in the last couple of years that gives no publishing contract unless they came up with the story and you’re already in their stable of writers. The days when I was sure you’d see my book or books in print are long gone. But to be told by a real writer that I had what it takes…. priceless.
It got my muse’s attention. All the creative juices came back and I had all these ideas for my 2 rough novels. There’s a lot of garbage writing out there that has too many fans when it shouldn’t see the light of day; that gets really discouraging. Add to it an industry that says they’ll never print me…. but these reviews made my spirit think, they may never print me….
Then along came the one who shall be called The Burgermeister because I don’t know who reads this blog, so I’m doing some CYA just in case. BG who was having a bad day, decided to take the snit fit out on me and made my life miserable. And this after I did the Burgermeister a few favors! It was frustrating and p’d me off all over again! And my muse is deciding to leave again, take the vicious road with the Burgermeister, or take the high road.
I’m leaning towards the vicious path.
While I beg my muse to please stay and speak to me.