There’s a myth about writers only writing when they’re inspired. About how every writer is waiting for the muse to come and give her the heavenly inspiration she needs to write the story. And I’m here to tell you that it’s mostly bullshit.
Inspiration is real. There’s no getting around it. You get inspired and the words start flowing and and your subconscious takes over and you start entertaining yourself and stopping is not an option because stopping becomes impossible and suddenly the story is written. We call this thing the muse because it’s much easier than using all those words to say the same thing. And when the muse does show up it’s admittedly wonderful. It’s possible to write without the muse and I at least can’t tell the difference in the prose afterward in the days where the muse dragged her ass to work and the days she didn’t.
Sometimes, however, the muse gets sidetracked. And right now my muse is obsessed with wool. Which probably why my desk looks like this.