[NSW-Fic] I Met My Muse Online and Other Short Stories

[JediMaster12]

This is a series of short stories that I thought of describing dificulties in the daily life of a writer. While this is based mostly from personal experience and some fun times, I think writers have experienced something similar at least once in their writing careers. So without further ado, I give:

 

 

I Met My Muse Online

 

Writer’s block, the enemy of every well known writer. It is like a disease that can cripple the mind beyond any reasonable comprehension. When it hits, the writing suffers. That is why they call it writer’s block and it is a menace to the writing community. I should know since I have had bouts of this disease before.

 

This time was the worst I had ever experienced. I had hit a cinder wall and was smacking my head against it. Nothing was coming out and I knew that my latest chapter was suffering. Hell I was suffering. I was sitting there and the glowing face of my lifeline, my laptop, was sitting there, laughing at me. It was taunting me with that blinking little line at the end of the sentence that I had just completed. It was telling me that I had run out of options; that I was up against a wall. In short, I was toast.

 

I was angry. Up until that point, my bouts with writer’s block had been minimal at best. I always had managed to bounce back with double the energy to finish another chapter. Heck I used to welcome a writer’s block because after I got over it, I wrote some of the best chapters ever. Now I drew a blank. I had just written the worst piece ever and I knew it and the whole community I wrote for knew it. I was lucky that I didn’t have people throwing eggs at my door for the bad job. It was like the joke of the flying manuscript beating against my brain, trying to get inside and squeeze out an idea. Hell any idea would be better than what I was suffering at the moment. I sent my head to the table with a good thump and stayed that way. I needed to find a muse.

 

As I sat there with my forehead plastered to the table, the taunting screen flipped to the screensaver. There, at least I didn’t have to be taunted at with my head plastered to the table. I sat there trying to figure out what to do and wishing that I had a real flying manuscript buzzing around and beating me to work or figure out how to find my muse. I was as clueless as a newborn baby when all of a sudden it hit me. I decided to go online.

 

I lifted my head from the table, unaware that I had a post-it stuck to my head. I tapped a key to get rid of the blindfold to once again be confronted with the taunting face of the document screen. Doing my utmost to not smash the screen, I reduced the offending face and instead clicked on my Internet browser button. I figured that I needed a reprieve and decided to head to my favorite hangout, the forum boards. However my mind had other ideas. I went to my email to empty out all my Spam when my eye was drawn to the instant messenger. I remembered a time when I used to use the IM and the consequences of that: too much talking and not enough studying or, in my case, writing.

 

The instant messenger was easy to download. I mean after all why not? I figured that maybe some of my old friends would want to know I was on the IM again. It was easy as one-two-three and I had the installation up and at em. I was pleased and joyful because I could have some fun again and talk to people that I had said good-bye to. As my wont, I set it up with the name that my friends knew me and added personality to my IM. After that, my tiny attention span at the time diverted itself to go to my original destination at the forum boards.

 

The forum boards had become my refuge when I felt the pressures of schoolwork bear its weight upon my shoulders. Here I knew I could be someone that I wasn’t normally in the real world. I could appear to be an outgoing person when I knew deep down that I was a coward in a social setting. I always called it a curse. On the forum boards I could be silly but just as long as I stayed within the rules otherwise the forum mum would come after me, but it never got to that.

 

For some strange reason, I found myself clicking over to the section were the fics were kept. I know it sounds stupid but I have often gotten good ideas while critiquing other young writers. I admit that at times I am as fierce in my critiques as I am in my own musings but you can be surprised at what the mind does. I was in the middle of dragging out what I called the heavy guns when I got a popup. Normally those little buggers annoyed the hell out of me but it turned out to be worth the interruption. At least it wasn’t the taunting screen.

 

As it turned out, it was the IM and the person who started it was someone I never thought would get onto one of these things. At first he wondered which kid I was. I figured that he talked to several different people or he only knew me by the username on the forum boards. Anyway I was surprised at the little bugger popup and almost didn’t answer. However, I remembered that I could be the confident person I seemed to be on the boards and plunged into the first IM conversation I had in three years.

 

As it turned out, my online companion was rather an old fart who had a unique perspective on world events and on life in general. The more I conversed with my companion, the more I ignored the forum boards, though I managed to finish my grueling critique with the least amount of bloodshed. We continued to talk. Well actually it was the old fart that did all the talking. I fell back on my talent of listening, something that was part of my cowardice in the physical social setting. The nice thing was that I didn’t feel a coward this time.

 

The old fart was rather entertaining with his view and gave me the opportunity of viewing the same thing but in a totally different way. It was while conversing with him that I realized the fog in brain cleared. The effect of writer’s block was lessening. True that I still couldn’t figure out what to say on the chapter I was slogging my abused mind over but the fog had cleared enough to allow me to start the crazy ideas rolling again even if the train was rather slow. I started hearing the songs that I had rewritten and ones that I dreamed of re-writing being composed. I saw a plot begin to unfold and I recognized it off the bat.

 

The bad thing about being a writer is that there are so many good ideas that they just jumble around in your head until you write them down. The plot bunny or plot furry, whatever, was an old story that I had set on the back burner in my mind. It was one that I had tucked aside because I had encountered a situation where I had changed my mind so much that I had to abandon it. This plot came back to mind when the old fart started mentioning something about wizards and magic from a story he had written and the rusted cogs in my brain started to turn.

 

I dug around in my dusty old daypack and found the notebook that I had started writing in and opened. The familiar scrawl that I wrote when I wrote out my plots brought a feeling of endearment to my heart. I began to write again. It was a pivotal moment in my next to nonexistent life since I have yet to experience life. Yeah being 22 is still being considered a baby and that is from the elder folk that I attend class with. Anyway the word magic was the catalyst and I started to write again but in the manner that I had done before the age of computers. It was handwritten.

 

I continued to talk to the old fart on the IM after that. We had many interesting conversations mainly on history and the like. Some gave me ideas for my story that I picked up again and others were just silliness that I showed on the boards. I still got to the boards but with an IM muse talking to me every day, it is difficult to keep up. Since then the cogs are running smooth in my mind and only a mild form of writer’s block has invaded my brain on occasion.

 

Life, though short for now, has dealt me a hand that is marked by different things. The spade that won the pot turned out to be an IM conversation that started as a friendly hello and a ‘who the hell are you?’ So you can say that I met my muse online.

[Diego Varen]

. The ramblings about Writer's Block is so entertaining and it makes sense when I'm running out of ideas. Looking foward to more JM12.

[JediMaster12]

Thanks Topsite. Did you catch our little joke in there? The one about flying manuscripts? That I thought warranted some funnies there seeing as I used to torment you with them. Well I still do with my new pet Kujo the Killer Pencil. Thanks for reading. Maybe you can guess who I am referring to in the fic.

[JediMaster12]

Here is the second of a series of short stories that go into the daily problems of a writer. If you think writer's block is bad, then you are in for a rough ride. Character creation can be a nightmare in of itself.

 

The Mind Bestows a Man

 

If anyone ever tried to write any sort of tale, they’d best be wary of surmounting difficulties. Besides the great evil and crippling disease of writer’s block, the next greatest would be the creation of a character. Yes sir, to create a character that is unique and not a carbon copy of what has already been done is like the proverbial needle in a haystack. You have that constant worry that you a creating white noise, if you get my meaning. That was my problem with a particular tale that involved the usual good versus evil plot.

 

In general, females are not hard to create because they are often a reflection of me and sometimes are the complete opposite of my nature. In a sense, they tend to be what I know I can’t. My greatest problem is the creation of a man. I am sure that there are plenty of women who know how to create a man, as silly and ridiculous as it sounds. Then again maybe the reason that I have such a hard time is that most of the men that I converse with are old farts with no sense of adventure or I found them to be complete scumbags. You can be surprised at how many don’t think with their heads. Well I managed to solve this problem after I met a guy that was different. It started the day that I bought him.

 

For thirty-six dollars I bought a guy at Valentine’s Day as a means to help his fraternity raise money for scholarships. Truth be told, I never expected to win with the cash that I had in my pocket but I thought it worth the try and thought it to be fun. It turned out to be heckling, much like an Arab trader or one of those old clichés. The guy was worth it, even though I only knew him by sight and not by name at first. I actually have a picture of that night and still blush when I see it.

 

The deal was that I pay for him and we would go out on a social date organized by his fraternity. I admit that we spent more time laughing instead of the whole kissing thing. Whoever invented that serious had no mind to being entertained by a good comedy but we had a good time. I admit that since then he has been like a little cute puppy dog, when it concerns social events hosted by his fraternity. I admit that I found it flattering and a little uncomfortable because he went out of his way to seek me out but that takes us off track.

 

After that first ‘date’ I had a glimpse into his character. He was the first, at least in person (the old fart who is my muse doesn’t count), who went out of his way to make me feel accepted. The fact that he was cute didn’t cloud my judgment. Maybe a little. As always, I am seen as the smart one and it gives the impression that I am unapproachable. This fellow though went out of his way to be entertaining and included me in conversation. He also made me feel welcome in an event that involved playing football on ice. I admit though that he did have a rather short attention span at times but he when he did pay attention, he gave it fully. It was after meeting him that the infernal cogs of my brain began to turn.

 

I went back to the tale that my muse gave inspiration to and began to develop the man that was to be a protector and the eventual love of my main character. What I found was that it was easier to develop the appearance of my character first and then develop personality. There are probably people who do it the other way or another way entirely but that is the beauty of writing: you develop your own unique way of doing things. In a way it’s like saying to hell with convention but that’s beside the point.

 

I began to make a list describing the man I wanted for this story. Truth be told I had already imagined his appearance long before this problem persisted. So I guess my problem was figuring out personality, as if that mattered. Technically it does seeing as no personality means nothing more than a picture on paper. In this man I gave hazel eyes and light brown hair. Into his personality, I poured in my guy’s personality of a caring nature that would go out of his way to make a girl feel special. Call it the appeal to the old notion of a gentleman. Lord knows that there aren’t that many who behave that way anymore save for the few that made it past the standards that I developed after meeting a few bad apples little more than three years ago.

 

In the end I created a man that is tall, hazel eyed, though I have changed eye color often enough, strong chin and firm face but full of kindness and a reserve that seemed to be laughing at you. He is also has courage and a sense of duty and the belief that justice can be served. Let’s face it, this guy is an ideal man and yet strangely enough I regret sharing him with anyone. The mind bestows characters with a sense of endearment towards the writer. Anything that pours from the writer’s pen or comes out of the pounding of computer keys becomes the rightful property of the writer. What goes on paper are the inner workings of a mind that spins webs that consist of thoughts and feelings that become put into words.

 

After this man, it has become easier to create different kinds of men. Of course they have to be different depending on the situation. It’s like when learning a new job. Once you get the hang of it, you fall into this mindset so that it becomes automatic, much like a machine part. Thank the gods that I don’t do that with my characters too often unless I run out of ideas. If my characters become like what comes off a conveyor belt, then I might as well create carbon copies or those Barbie dolls or something. Repetition can become a curse of this though for the first creation, it isn’t thankfully so. There is a consistency within my male characters, with the exception of those scoundrel types. They all have some quality of my bought date. What can I say? He is the kind of guy you don’t want to forget.

 

With that said, I suppose that I am a little possessive of my man. Oh alright I am extremely possessive and heaven knows why I decided to tell this story about how a joke and an auction inspired the creation of a man companion for my heroine that is supposed to save the world from a great evil. If all life was like a fairy tale. If it were a fairy tale then my man who come and go through all that dreamy nonsense of declaring love or whatever those fairy tales says about the prince or hero. It makes me wonder if I am losing my mind. I do say this though, the mind of a writer bestows upon us as readers wonderful things that dare us to dream of things that may not exist within our reality. As a writer my mind has bestowed things that may question my sanity at times or reveal a side that people have never seen before. In this case, my mind has bestowed what even the most cynic of girls dare to dream, the image of a man.