When does your writing muse demand a break? What sorts of diversions does she expect before she’ll calmly sit at the keyboard again?
Mine always seems to throw a fit after I finish edits on a manuscript. Once it’s submitted, she balks and doesn’t want to be near the computer. I guess I should consider myself lucky, since during the writing process, no matter how long, she’s compliant. I’ve heard some muses are cranky and must be bribed with chocolate cake. Mine just expects a treat after working hard. Seems fair enough.
After a new book submission, last week was her week to get away and see the real world. We did some spectacular things I’d wanted to do for at least a decade.
Jai Uttal
One night I attended a kirtan led by Jai Uttal and his percussionists. What’s a kirtan? It’s a traditional Indian spiritual group singing event, a sort of sing-a-long using names of Hindu gods and goddesses as well as other words of prayer. I’ve been a fan of his for about a decade and it was a rare treat for him to play here in Tampa. The event was held at the yoga studio The Lotus Pond, inside its lovely log cabin nestled within the woods. The room was warm and inviting with wool carpets on the floor and tapestries on the walls. Jai led us through three kirtan songs lasting nearly two and a half hours. The energy of lifting our voices together singing those devotional names and words was moving, inspiring, and relaxing. I'm including some pictures I took at the kirtan.
Later the same week, I had the wonderful opportunity to attend a master yoga class led by the world-famous instructor Shiva Rea. Sponsored by Yogani Studios of Tampa, it was held in the old Cuban Club of Ybor City. I went with a small group of awesome yoginis from my local yoga studio.
Shiva Rea
The theme of the evening was mandalas, circular Hindu and Buddhist art. In the ornate, old ballroom, our yoga mats were arranged in concentric circles around a center informal altar with statues of Hindu gods, candles, flowers, incense. Over 150 students practiced with her for more than two hours. The vinyasas (series of poses) flowed in circular patterns, again following the mandala theme. She was accompanied by a wonderful percussion band that kept us moving. My body embraced greater ranges of movement, and my senses drank in the aesthetic beauty—together it formed a holistic experience which was truly uplifting.
Natural lighting was utilized to add to the ambiance through the sunset hour, so photography was limited, but here are some pictures from the early hour of the event.
Julie, Angela, Marianne, me
It’s a very cool thing my muse refuses to write a few weeks during the year, so I get to do such neat things.
When does your writing muse demand a break? What sorts of diversions does she expect before she’ll calmly sit at the keyboard again? Muses are all different. Let me know about yours.
I’m very curious what other writers experience. What does your muse require to stay healthy, happy, and inspired?
"Hemingway is great in that alone of living writers he has saturated his work with the memory of physical pleasure, with sunshine and salt water, with food, wine and making love and the remorse which is the shadow of that sun." ~Cyril Connolly
I read this quote today on Dictionary.com and it resonated with me. Last fall my husband and I visited Key West, where bits of trivia about how Hemingway’s love of coastal life seemed interwoven into history of the island.
Recently, I’ve learned how critically my environment influences what I write, as well as the depth and tone of my writing. Lately, my writing muse began begging to be more connected with the outdoor world, Florida sunshine. I’ve been busy for weeks, attached to my main computer with dozens of files constantly open, creating interesting guest posts for my blog tour—jobs too complex to accomplish on my netbook out on our dock. I even took a few days and let my muse work on a new book, but that didn’t seem to satisfy her. Daily word counts were met, so what was her problem? After a few more days spent with a frustrated muse who left my nerves in a bunch, I realized she needed to feel the inspiration of the warm sunshine and rhythm of the waves. I’ve always known I write my best while outside, but didn’t grasp how essential it really was. My discontented muse finally got through to me--she must recharge outside at regular intervals in order to write contentedly inside for a period.
So, when I stumbled upon this quote, I was pleased to feel a kinship to the great author. I understand his connection to the year-round, summer-like sun of Florida, the salt water and how it flavors the air. The inspiration of coastal life is huge and something that becomes a part of you, in your blood.
Here are some other quotes on the same topic which connected for me.
The richest of all lords is Use,
And ruddy Health the loftiest Muse.
Live in the sunshine, swim the sea,
Drink the wild air's salubrity.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
This verse by Emerson is a more formal, pastoral representation of the same idea. The sun and sea restore and revitalize the spirit, and in turn health.
the thousand colors in her plain brown hair— morning sunshine
~Bernard Lionel Einbond
Those lines are so simple, yet lovely. They help me appreciate how I pull fantasy scenes and storylines from my time spent enjoying nature. The sunshine illuminates, opens my mind to more…
“The two basic items necessary to sustain life are sunshine and coconut milk. Did you know that? That's a fact. The two basic items necessary to sustain life are sunshine and coconut milk. Did you know that? That's a fact.”
ATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
~Waldo Salt
This is fun! Again, the same idea. I might change out the coconut milk for iced tea or a variety of exotic rum drink, but the tropical ease of being around coconut palms is important beyond satisfying my palate.
I’m very curious what other writers experience. What does your muse require to stay healthy, happy, and inspired?
Today I'm welcoming fellow Muse author Ginger Simpson as my guest, giving us information about her new story, A Wing and a Prayer.
Respect your Flight Attendant
Are you aware of the vast amount of training that flight attendants go through in order to qualify for their jobs? While you may consider they are only there to take your drink order, fetch you a blanket or pass out peanuts, the men and women who serve in this capacity play a vital role in the safety of those onboard.
While you might consider they only stroll the aisles to pick up trash, assure seatbacks are in their upright position and trays stowed and locked, actually they are required to conduct a cabin check every twenty-thirty minutes. They’re looking for anything out of the norm that might put you in jeopardy. Besides, babysitting passengers, they also do regular checks of the cockpit to assure that the pilot is alive and well. Think they are taking bathroom breaks too often? Not so, they’re checking to make sure the smoke detectors haven’t been tampered with.
Attendants are trained for all sorts of emergencies, from small injuries, anxiety attacks, and even on-board births. They are well instructed on how to prepare passengers in the case of water landings and how to utilize the emergency slides. Since 9/11, most have also received basic instructions on defense in the case of terrorist attacks or high-jacking. Next time you fly, you might want to consider that Allstate isn’t the only place where you’re in good hands.
Respect your Flight Attendant
Are you aware of the vast amount of training that flight attendants go through in order to qualify for their jobs? While you may consider they are only there to take your drink order, fetch you a blanket or pass out peanuts, the men and women who serve in this capacity play a vital role in the safety of those onboard.
While you might consider they only stroll the aisles to pick up trash, assure seatbacks are in their upright position and trays stowed and locked, actually they are required to conduct a cabin check every twenty-thirty minutes. They’re looking for anything out of the norm that might put you in jeopardy. Besides, babysitting passengers, they also do regular checks of the cockpit to assure that the pilot is alive and well. Think they are taking bathroom breaks too often? Not so, they’re checking to make sure the smoke detectors haven’t been tampered with.
Attendants are trained for all sorts of emergencies, from small injuries, anxiety attacks, and even on-board births. They are well instructed on how to prepare passengers in the case of water landings and how to utilize the emergency slides. Since 9/11, most have also received basic instructions on defense in the case of terrorist attacks or high-jacking. Next time you fly, you might want to consider that Allstate isn’t the only place where you’re in good hands.Respect your Flight Attendant
Are you aware of the vast amount of training that flight attendants go through in order to qualify for their jobs?
While you may consider they are only there to take your drink order, fetch you a blanket or pass out peanuts, the men and women who serve in this capacity play a vital role in the safety of those onboard.
While you might consider they only stroll the aisles to pick up trash, assure seatbacks are in their upright position and trays stowed and locked, actually they are required to conduct a cabin check every twenty-thirty minutes. They’re looking for anything out of the norm that might put you in jeopardy. Besides, babysitting passengers, they also do regular checks of the cockpit to assure that the pilot is alive and well. Think they are taking bathroom breaks too often? Not so, they’re checking to make sure the smoke detectors haven’t been tampered with.
Attendants are trained for all sorts of emergencies, from small injuries, anxiety attacks, and even on-board births. They are well instructed on how to prepare passengers in the case of water landings and how to utilize the emergency slides. Since 9/11, most have also received basic instructions on defense in the case of terrorist attacks or high-jacking. Next time you fly, you might want to consider that Allstate isn’t the only place where you’re in good hands.
Respect your Flight Attendant
Are you aware of the vast amount of training that flight attendants go through in order to qualify for their jobs? While you may consider they are only there to take your drink order, fetch you a blanket or pass out peanuts, the men and women who serve in this capacity play a vital role in the safety of those onboard.
While you might consider they only stroll the aisles to pick up trash, assure seatbacks are in their upright position and trays stowed and locked, actually they are required to conduct a cabin check every twenty-thirty minutes. They’re looking for anything out of the norm that might put you in jeopardy. Besides, babysitting passengers, they also do regular checks of the cockpit to assure that the pilot is alive and well. Think they are taking bathroom breaks too often? Not so, they’re checking to make sure the smoke detectors haven’t been tampered with.
Attendants are trained for all sorts of emergencies, from small injuries, anxiety attacks, and even on-board births. They are well instructed on how to prepare passengers in the case of water landings and how to utilize the emergency slides. Since 9/11, most have also received basic instructions on defense in the case of terrorist attacks or high-jacking. Next time you fly, you might want to consider that Allstate isn’t the only place where you’re in good hands.
Respect your Flight Attendant
Are you aware of the vast amount of training that flight attendants go through in order to qualify for their jobs? While you may consider they are only there to take your drink order, fetch you a blanket or pass out peanuts, the men and women who serve in this capacity play a vital role in the safety of those onboard.
While you might consider they only stroll the aisles to pick up trash, assure seatbacks are in their upright position and trays stowed and locked, actually they are required to conduct a cabin check every twenty-thirty minutes. They’re looking for anything out of the norm that might put you in jeopardy. Besides, babysitting passengers, they also do regular checks of the cockpit to assure that the pilot is alive and well. Think they are taking bathroom breaks too often? Not so, they’re checking to make sure the smoke detectors haven’t been tampered with.
Attendants are trained for all sorts of emergencies, from small injuries, anxiety attacks, and even on-board births. They are well instructed on how to prepare passengers in the case of water landings and how to utilize the emergency slides. Since 9/11, most have also received basic instructions on defense in the case of terrorist attacks or high-jacking. Next time you fly, you might want to consider that Allstate isn’t the only place where you’re in good hands.Blurb:
First Impressions aren’t always what they seem. Just ask Callie Corwin.
On a 747, Callie Corwin, buckles up for her first day as a flight attendant. The full jet carries two passengers who stand out from the others, but for totally different reasons. The handsome cowboy promises to be a pleasant distraction from her performance anxiety, but the dark-skinned gentleman a few rows back sends her up her hackles. She’s been trained on how to recognize a terrorist, and he fits the very description. Will she see jolly old England or the bottom of the sea?
My manuscript of the opening book of my series, The Enchanted Bookstore is completed, pitched, and submitted with fingers crossed and a sigh of satisfaction. Now what still pulls on my soul? All the noise has silenced. I love the verse of Rumi, the 13th c Sufi poet.
I promised my writing muse a vacation to allow her to regroup. She accepted with mixed reactions. Some days she begs to write what my main characters whisper to her, and other days she’s happy to wander and collect new ideas, like seashell treasures on life’s shore.
As she drifts, I’ve spent time catching up. The last stage of our patio remodeling called for my attention – landscaping. I love gardening and attacked that project with the same fervor I completed my manuscript. After a few days of planting bushes, potting plants, and hauling landscape stones, my muscles cried for reprieve. But, it’s a lovely backyard haven now where my muse intends to craft many stories. These pictures show some of my efforts with orchids and a few other tropical plants.
I’ve also caught up with friends and family who patiently waited for me to take a break. I made new acquaintances at the Florida Writers Association conference. My husband and I will be taking our first vacation in years to the Keys in a couple weeks.
A break from writing doesn’t ever mean a halt to all writing. I’m working through a backlog of demands for short stories and promotional shorts for my February release, Tears on a Tranquil Lake.
Once I’ve satisfied these necessities, what still pulls on my soul? My spirit loves the outdoors -- biking through parks and beaches. One cycling trip this week put me face-to-face with a wild boar, the first I’d seen! It was so big I had to look twice to be certain it wasn’t a cow. Also, becoming a better kayaker on the lagoon in our backyard is high on my list.
I’m also guarding a bit of time for neglected hobbies – watercolor painting, knitting, and reading. I’ve painted for decades, but have a few too many northern snow scenes for my new Floridian home. A dear author friend and avid knitter suggested I explore a knitting website, Ravelry, warning me it was a huge world that would suck in me – it is and has! Now, if I can only shorten my stack of books to read!
I was thrilled to write and finish my last manuscript, happy to have a break, and am eager to resume crafting the next book in the series. Life is good.
Today I'm very pleased to have Krista D. Ball sharing information with us about her terrific release, Harvest Moon.
A short intro from Krista’s character
As I sat on the bank of the swallow river, the drums pounding in the distance, I asked myself why the ancestors abandoned me. I had always behaved the way my elders taught me. I worked hard, shared with those around me, and never took more from the Earth than what I needed. I listened to my chief and my elders and respected the wisdom that the Spirits offered them. Why, then, would I be called “Cursed One”, never to be a person again?
The crowd in the distance sang and whooped in excitement, rhythmic drums echoing back to my isolated patch of ground. My job during the Gathering consisted of fetching water from the cold stream. Fearful of my presence polluting the festivities and angering the ancestors, several small children were designated to collect the bladders of water from me and run them back to the celebrating people. I could not even bring the water itself.
I was no longer Dancing Cat, messenger of my people. I was Cursed One. I would not experience the opening of the Sacred Bundle and receive guidance.
I looked out and over the endless field of grass opposite of the river and sighed. Someday, I will find a way to deliver myself. Even if I have to call upon death to rescue me.
Cross-legged, Dancing Cat sat pounding the sun-dried Saskatoon berries between two hand-sized rocks. The stone, her hands, and her buckskin dress all bore the tell-tale signs of berry duty. Streaks of red dye, impossible to clean, striped her clothing and tanned skin. She tried pushing her hair off her cheeks, only to have the sticky residue coating her fingers glue the dark strands in place. The black flies swarmed and buzzed, ready to feast.
She worked in silence as part of the greater circle of twenty women, who chatted as they worked. Dancing Cat had no reason to join in. They only spoke to her to criticize or belittle, never for companionship. The band no longer even called her by name.
Her attention faded away from her work. She stared past the women to catch a glimpse of Eagle Eyes, her brother, mounting his horse. He was only six years older than her and already leading hunting parties, while she sat, docile and obedient, making powdered berries. His gaze caught hers, full of warning. She looked away with the heaviness of her situation pressing against her chest. Dancing Cat pounded her berries harder, trying to crush her own aching loneliness.
“I wish I could ride again,” she mumbled.
Her mother, Crow, glared at her. “I have no patience for you today. We have berries to crush. Shall I remind you why we need them?”
“No,” Dancing Cat said, sullen. They couldn’t start the pemmican cakes without the berries. Without them, they would starve when winter fell. She’d heard the lecture many times before and did not want to hear it again.
“Good. Put aside your childishness and work in silence, Cursed One.”
Dancing Cat swallowed down the slight. She remained silent against the grunts and nods of the other women. She dropped her gaze, making snide, internal comments about how her mother’s black hair no longer resembled a crow’s blue-black feathers. It made her feel better, petty though it was.
Some days, she saw herself as Cursed One instead of her name. But today was not one of those days. Today, she was still the girl who wriggled out of the womb twenty years before and was joyously named Dancing Cat. Today, she hated her duty and silence. But she would do both and would not complain. One day, she would escape into death and be free.
Using a sharp stone, she scraped the mound of berry powder off the buckskin in front of her into the main pile. She dumped several handfuls of the tiny Saskatoon berries back on her ragged buckskin to resume pounding. But not before licking her fingers clean of the tart, feathery residue. No one noticed.
“Creator wills it, the men will bring home a buffalo from the hunt,” Crow said to the other women, who nodded in agreement.
Dancing Cat let her mind wander as the women chatted about the tribe’s need for a buffalo. The herd would move southeast in another moon cycle and so the entire tribe would move with them before the final move into their winter camp. Faded memories of riding ahead of the hunt flashed across her mind; images so foreign that she wondered if they were true anymore.
A chill crept up her spine. The late summer wind had turned cold. She flicked her gaze back to the hunting party. The rest of the men mounted their horses and galloped off to the nearby buffalo herd. She sighed, remembering the freedom of riding. She had been their tribe’s first female messenger. She missed it.
“Cursed One! Pay attention. You are chipping your rock. If I find stone in my cakes this winter, I will take yours and let you go without.” Her grandmother glared at her, her thin lips pursed. “Stop daydreaming.”
Dancing Cat stared at her grandmother, trying to control her tone. “Sorry, Nohkom. I was just…”
“Daydreaming,” Hawk Sight snapped. “We expect you to do your share of work. If you do not, you will be the first to starve this winter.”
Dancing Cat hung her head, fingers trembling from the nauseating mix of anger and fear. She bit back the disrespectful words that boiled inside her. Hawk Sight was not just her maternal grandmother, but also the band healer and an elder. No one would dare speak back to her, let alone the band exile.
She looked up at the several generations of women around her. The nodding heads and smug looks told her that the threat of starvation was real. She pushed her grandmother’s words out of her mind by grinding the berries perfectly between the two flat rocks.
“Remember Stoney?”
Dancing Cat slumped. Hawk Sight never could let things go.
“She thought she could laze around while we women worked. But when we ran out of food that winter, she was the one left to starve. We don’t need lazy women.”
“Yes, Nohkom.”
And on it went for the afternoon, story after miserable story about women who starved to death. It would have been bad enough for just her grandmother to have told the stories. Instead, the others joined in, telling of captured Red Valley, Cree or Inuit wives who had been left to starve when food stores ran low. All at her grandmother’s say. Hawk Sight might have been a great healer, but she was also cold and merciless in Dancing Cat’s opinion.
They told the stories to make her work harder, but it had the opposite effect. Her work slowed. She could not stand up for herself against an entire band, but she could refuse to obey the people who threatened to kill her. If they wanted her to die, then they could starve, too.
It was an incredible moment having my first book, Tears on a Tranquil Lake, accepted for publication by Muse Publishing. It’s difficult to describe that euphoric feeling akin to other amazing firsts throughout life. A fellow author likened it to the experience of having sex for the first time with someone you truly loved. That was a close approximation.
While my mind spun and vibrated at full speed, too fast to grasp any metacognition, happy wishes from family and friends poured over me. That warm fuzzy feeling brought a perceptible thought – I was loved. An extra special thank you goes to my buddies at Savvy Authors for the way they joined together like a flash, participating in a group-hug-Snoopy-dance party. We’ve spent long hours in the semi-silent chat operating room, encouraging each other's editing, or sweating blood in writing workshops.
One of those Savvy pals asked me what I intended to buy myself as a reward/celebration to honor this milestone – tangible thought number two. It was a good idea, but what did I yearn for . . . more sleep, less email, fewer Floridian love bugs attacking my car's finish? Well . . . I've wanted a Nook, but I think Santa would like to bring me that. Then, a few days later while in my favorite plant nursery I found myself, for the third time, standing transfixed, starring wide-eyed and mouth open at their collection of hundreds of orchids. Up north, even in greenhouses, orchids don't thrive, too far outside of their tropical habitat. But these were just spellbinding . . . and expensive, enough to usually make me turn away after wistful glances. At that moment it didn't matter if I was running late to fix dinner – I was determined to select my heart's desire to mark my success.
After a thorough evaluation of form, color, health, and general wow-appeal I purchased a deep purple Vanda epiphyte (aerial, for the non-biologically minded). My new little baby rode home resting comfortably in my back seat. It now hangs in a prime spot on the covered back porch as you can see in my pictures.
Researching the care of orchids I was pleasantly surprised. References called orchids “sexy” plants, the name coming from the Greek word “orchis”which means testicle. I smiled. My first contracted book is cross genre fantasy erotica and my publisher is a wonderful Greek lady, Lea Schizas.
Most muses expect to be fed occasionally. Some whimper for chocolate, others demand shopping sprees. Mine usually is satisfied with a pot of special blend white tea, kept steaming on a warmer for the evening of writing. But, once in a while she begs for an outing to someplace exotic. Lush settings captivate her. While taking lit classes in college, she prodded me to read every 19th c. novel she could find. That included the entire collection of Thomas Hardy, whose settings of mist-shrouded moors covered with purple heather in Wessex are every bit as memorable as his romantic characters, Tess and Angel, Bathsheba and Gabriel. She balks at workshops on world-building, maintaining a keen eye and an overactive imagination serve better. Nothing pleases her more than an afternoon at the beach. Once my toes are wiggling in sand beyond the towel's edge, she skips my pencil across pages at lightning pace.
Last Saturday I took my muse on a new adventure to the local Renaissance festival. I hoped she'd like it, since unnaturally cool Florida winter weather precluded beach days. And she did.
A curious array of earthy scents greeted us: fresh-milled wood chips underfoot; vendors newly-tanned leather vestments and boots; toasting cinnamon-dusted nuts; spirals of sandalwood incense. Visual delights also intrigued her. The grounds lay amid a grove of gnarly trees draped with Spanish moss. Their swags swayed with magic around tents belonging to tarot readers. Street performers and festival goers alike dressed in costumes, a variety of old world fantasy mixed with buccaneer accoutrements. Diaphanous layers of ladies skirts flowed like dreams. Coins adorned hats, headdresses, belts, wristlets, and necklaces – catching dappled sunlight and jingling with each step. I expected something of a pirate theme, following from the popularity of the Gasparilla festival, a pageant given by Ye Mystic Krewe in honor of their captain, Jose Gaspar. The result – a surreal tapestry.
Enchantment and swashbuckling in every direction. A human chess game and giant sand castle thrilled imaginations of young and old. Druids lay half hidden, clinging to tree trunks. A pickle vendor alerted me to fairies climbing in branches above, planning mischief. Celebrators extended cordial welcomes to all. The eclectic merriment painted an unwritten scene from Alice in Wonderland. My muse drank in the splendor of that living fairy tale.
In the days since, I felt her scrambling for characters to add to the new world. When finished, she hands me a complete setting and characters, detailed with personalities and attire. If she enjoys the characters enough she will lend a hand with plot. Then, my muse rests and sips tea until impatient with my plodding for months over what she created in days. I'm always behind, thankfully. She plays hard and works hard, never leaving me with writer's block. But the best gift is seeing the world through her eyes. A writer's blessing.
One night I attended a kirtan led by Jai Uttal and his percussionists. What’s a kirtan? It’s a traditional Indian spiritual group singing event, a sort of sing-a-long using names of Hindu gods and goddesses as well as other words of prayer. I’ve been a fan of his for about a decade and it was a rare treat for him to play here in Tampa. The event was held at the yoga studio The Lotus Pond, inside its lovely log cabin nestled within the woods. The room was warm and inviting with wool carpets on the floor and tapestries on the walls. Jai led us through three kirtan songs lasting nearly two and a half hours. The energy of lifting our voices together singing those devotional names and words was moving, inspiring, and relaxing. I'm including some pictures I took at the kirtan.
Later the same week, I had the wonderful opportunity to attend a master yoga class led by the world-famous instructor Shiva Rea. Sponsored by Yogani Studios of Tampa, it was held in the old Cuban Club of Ybor City. I went with a small group of awesome yoginis from my local yoga studio.
The theme of the evening was mandalas, circular Hindu and Buddhist art. In the ornate, old ballroom, our yoga mats were arranged in concentric circles around a center informal altar with statues of Hindu gods, candles, flowers, incense. Over 150 students practiced with her for more than two hours. The vinyasas (series of poses) flowed in circular patterns, again following the mandala theme. She was accompanied by a wonderful percussion band that kept us moving. My body embraced greater ranges of movement, and my senses drank in the aesthetic beauty—together it formed a holistic experience which was truly uplifting. 
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