Dear Muse… When was the last time you and I sat down and had a chat?

Dear Muse,

I’ve been thinking lately, which I know you know, about why we freak out about committing to a large project and have to constantly wander off into other fields in any other place than the one we’re in. I’ve been thinking lately about why I don’t do meta, why my worlds are so thoroughly immersed, why I write about broken people who have to sacrifice so much to have any part of what they want and can never seem to have it all. I’ve been thinking about why perfection and perfect happiness always seems so far away, not even near in those crystal moments we wish we could keep by holding on, why it’s always so hard for the ones who belong to claim each other, let alone maintain the claim, why I love romance, why I hate it, why I’m bored and full up and restless and writing and not writing enough all at once.

Let’s sit down, my muse; let’s chat.

I see you sitting shyly, uncertain and wary as most of the girls I like to peek on in a hundred worlds and spiraled worlds faceting the others. I see you wondering if perhaps I’m digging too deep this time. You know, analysis doesn’t always help. Sometimes it’s overkill, scribbler. Sometimes, you just need to let things flow.

But they aren’t flowing. Oh, we could pretend, we could say they are, and sometimes you give me something, throw me a bone and even maybe add some flesh on that bone, but so many times you run away when I most need you to knuckle down and do. You run and I’m here and if I only wrote what you handed me, I’d have very little finished work to show for it. Why, muse? What is it you need or I need to do to help you?

Maybe it’s these constant interruptions and difficulties getting into things, but surely we already proved that that wasn’t the real big deal and I’ve heard the stories about those meat and potato writers: sit down, show up, the muse is attracted to a working writer. Is that so? I wonder sometimes what attracts you to me.

You’ll dig.

Is that what you want? You want me to dig? But when does it stop being digging and just turning over the soil? When do we see some harvest from all this seed-planting? Muse, I want to write the stories you give me, but there’s a little mess of a problem if you can’t stay focused long enough for me to do it.

You give me fodder. It’s hard to stay focused on the mix we’ve got when you throw more things in the mix.

The reading.

The music, the movies, the ways you keep working things around again. It helps; you know, scribbler, that it helps, but it hurts too. The well’s too full. The cup’s running over. Do you really want to shut off the flow.

I want to direct the flow.

Then stick with me, just me, for a while. I know we can work this out together.

I do have a couple of reading assignments for Rabia, for pygmymuse, for in_the_blue, for BookRooster.com.

Let them go and write with me. I’ll give you something. I promise.

I’ll hold you to that, muse; you know I will.

Love,

the scribbler

Originally published at Liana Mir. You can comment here or there.

Scrivener, I Recant…

I have never been able to make Scrivener work for me. I stand corrected. I finally figured out how to get it out of my way and make it do what I wanted.

1. Import docs and work from there

2. Right click to split at selection. (Hint: left click to make sure you’ve selected what you want first.)

3. Double-click to edit color. If I’d found this sooner, I would have liked Scrivener better.

4. Use Label Color In… This was the kicker. I can make this work. I can finally make this work. Whoohoo.

Originally published at Liana Mir. You can comment here or there.

Today’s Favorites Inflicted: Snippets and Recs and Hugs

I’m feeling Christmassy (and sleepy and too sleepy and more than a little ready for significantly less stress), but today, I feel like sharing some of my favorite things around the web and my world.

Rabia Gale posted a lovely little rec post for her guest post about “The Lone Woman,” a sale on Rainbird, which I love, and one of the most important indie publishing/writing articles I’ve lately read.

The lovely xenokattz is offering New Year/Ephiphany fanthings and prompting from holiday music and video.

I’m sending out Christmas cards this year, as soon as I can prop open my brain cells enough to do it.

And today, I unearthed this snippet, discovering anew how much I liked it:

Arienne stood upon the balcony of the Household of Vishet, looking toward the port and the golden edge of the sunset glow. About her neck hung a heavy chain of Vardin silver and the five sapphire links at its heart. Her bare fingers pressed into the stone frame. Her eyes took in the breadth of her city, to her the nation.

“I cannot do this alone,” she said suddenly in a quiet voice.

There was no answer behind her in the royal chamber. Her guard and servant, bound to her in all the ways that did not matter, stood there near the wall. He would never be parted from her, even in this most intimate and fearful of moments. But he did not speak. He could not offer her comfort.

The princess glanced down and touched the silver and sapphire chains. Her gaze fell further, to the bare back of her right wrist. Slowly, she clenched the hand, knowing the weight soon to settle there.

Heavily, she whirled about in her heavy skirts and turned toward the guard in his uniform, even darker than her own. His eyes were averted.

“Where is Cayden?” she asked. It was not a question expected of her.

But the guard’s eyes closed and she saw his jaw tighten in concentration. A moment, his eyes opened; he looked at her, saw her. “He is coming.”

Arienne studied him, impassive in expression if not within her heart. She nodded royal acknowledgment and turned away. “When he arrives, leave us.” She laid both her palms against the rail and returned her study to the city. It would be her only burden now.

Vardin.

Originally published at Liana Mir. You can comment here or there.