In the Mood

I’ve never believed in waiting to feel ~inspired~ before I try to write. I think it’s backwards to do it that way. Faith precedes the miracle, and you have to have your butt in the chair making words with the keys before inspiration’s going to show up.

That said, sometimes the mood is just not there. Sometimes you have the house to yourself, you’ve got your music playing, you’re all comfortable and got your thoughts organized and you ought to be ready to go — and nothing happens. You just can’t get the motor running. That is me today. I know exactly what’s supposed to happen in this scene, it’s a good scene, and it’s taken me over an hour to get 75 words of actual story. Words I may end up deleting tomorrow because they’re just… zombies, shuffling lifelessly across the page. Though I may find tomorrow that’s they’re perfectly fine; I’ve written scenes before that were absolutely pulling teeth, that getting the cursor across the screen felt like limping with one leg broken and the other on a stilt, and the scene turned out great. That’s an amazing feeling. But it sure doesn’t feel amazing today.
Usually when I can’t write worth a darn, it’s because I’m having a bad day at work. The library is crowded and loud and people are being demanding, I’m going back and forth between sections, there’s a lot of shelving or other little tasks I need to do — things like that. It’s easy for one group of badly-behaved kids to throw me off-center for the rest of the day, leave me scattered and emotionally drained. But I’m off work today. It ought to be a great day for writing. I can blame part of it on annoyances with my brother and the distraction of housework, but honestly, not all of it. Today, all I can say is that the muse did not show.
And you know what? That’s okay. I did my part. I managed a couple hundred words, which is a couple hundred more than I had yesterday, and I can put it away knowing tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow may be one of those days when my fingers just burn through the keyboard and everything comes together perfectly. We’ll find out, because my butt will be in the chair tomorrow just like it was today, limping toward inspiration.