When the Muse hits 'Pause'
I'm coming to the end of a writing hiatus. In the midst of berating myself I've come to value the a non-writing period; a chance to take stock, incubate and, if necessary, recalibrate.
While there are numerous very good reasons in my 'outside-of-writing' life, if something like that really exists (it's all grist for the mill isn't it?), that might justify the break, I know it's not these.
I think my Muse has hit the Pause button, perhaps as she stifled a yawn as I approached the potentially treacherous mid point of the novel. And she's held her hand over it so I won't hit Play, waving a finger of the other hand at me - 'not yet, go out and get some fresh air'.
'Ok,' I sighed shrugging my shoulders and feeling them and my thoughts loosening. I've become alert to new ideas: a chance trip to the spice markets in Bali heightened my character's senses; in a random choice of movie on the plane on the way home my Muse, disguised as my character, waved to me from the side of the set - 'Take note!' she said.
So, I've stopped berating myself, inhaling instead the heady mix of fresh ideas.
She knew what she was doing, my Muse, but then, that's what a Muse is for isn't it? She's taken her hand off the button and is waving to me now from the page. Hit Play!
