Ahh, the perils of being a muse writer. Some days, I have no problems writing. On my first novel, in fact, I wrote over ten thousand words on the first day. But then there are the days when my mind is like an unsecured ride in a Tilt-A-Whirl; things are flying every which way and I can’t manage to grab onto anything to save my life.
I have quite a few of those Tilt-A-Whirl days. Mostly due to stress. I don’t handle stress well, at all. I tend to flit from activity to activity or I sit and mope and moan about what I should be doing.
I wish, some days, that I could write more like my husband. He sits himself down, pulls out his outline, and writes all that he’s planned to write. Once he gets started, he has no problems hammering out a steady two or three thousand words a day. He finishes his novellas in a week. Then publishes, then advertises, then rakes in the money.
Which gives me pause, but only for a pause.
I don’t, particularly, write for an audience. Yes, I write a blog. I also write novels and short stories and novellas. But I write what I want, how ever I want, without worrying about whether it’s saleable. My husband, on the other hand, writes to a specific audience with a particular genre firmly in hand.
And that’s all well and good, but when I look at the numbers on Amazon, he far out sells me. But, again, I don’t write to market, I write as desire moves me. I’m most definitely a muse writer, a pantser, a start-and-stop writer. Most days it’s fine enough.
We joke, my husband and I, about how I have fantastic ideas. I’m also a pretty decent editor and proofreader. I write well, at least that’s the consensus I’ve found, but simply writing well doesn’t mean people will enjoy my writing. I do have my fans, though, so I’ll keep writing and releasing, for them and for myself.
When the muse strikes, at least.