Revolver Wielding Muses

Hesiod and the Muse

This image is a lie, Muses are all bitches who hate everything about you.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been working on a novel and since this whole blog was actually started because of it I figured I’d let you good people know about its lack of progress. I’ve been pretty diligent with working on it; inching closer and closer to my goal of 80,000 some words. My productivity even started increasing when I hit the 50k mark since the end was in sight. However, recently I’ve hit a bit of a speed bump. The kind that sends your car spiraling out of control and down a cliff. Soon the news reporters come and everyone is looking at your dead corpse which is half way through your windshield because you were too cool to wear a seat belt.

You see, every writer has at least one muse. I have two: my fiancee and one that only seems to speak to me when I’m barreling down the highway at speeds that would get arrested for reckless endangerment. My fiancee tends to give me good advice at times it’s needed or wanted. She’s good at grounding and telling me when I’m being stupid.

And then there’s the other one. For the sake of clarity, we’ll call her “M” (because I’m so damn original).

The muse that is my fiancee exists in the real world (promise I’m not making this part up) and helps pay our bills; M exists only in my head, but knows how to beat the walls to piss off the neighbors and give me a headache. My fiancee is classy but is able to chug a fifth of vodka if the night calls for it; M is always drinking vodka.

The ideas from M never come when needed or even wanted. The ideas range from “Holycrapawesome” to “WTFisthisshit” and I often have to double check them with the fiancee. Sometimes M just piggybacks off of the ideas the fiancee tells me by telling me how her idea would work or fit into what I got going. Life would be wonderful if I could just get them to work together.

But life isn’t that wonderful.

I was at the 65k mark with the story, the end pretty much around the corner. Part of me was trying to figure out how to keep the story going and another part was trying to think of how I’d make it more original and memorable. You see, I had already been experiencing a bit of writer’s block. I had redone the outline for the story to help me brainstorm; I had most of the story fleshed out with the exception of a few scenes towards the end. How was I going to get the main character to finish subplot B so he could finish main plot A? I couldn’t think of the appropriate transitions.

The outline went kinda like this.

(80% of plot)












Ending scenes


The end

Or, for those of you who only speak internet:

lol internet









Bag of dicks


Love is Over

Then M showed up.

“Hey,” she said, a bit of vodka on her breath, “I got an idea about that story you’re working on.”

“Thank God,” I replied, “I’ve been having a tough time here. I just don’t know how I’m going to-”

“Change the gender of the main character.”

“-finish this. Wait, what?”

M also makes this face

“Make the main guy a main girl. Trust me, it’ll work awesome.”

Within a few seconds I rolled over the whole thing in my head. She was right, it would work beautifully. However, as far as the story was concerned many many things would have to be reworked and rewritten.

In layman’s terms, my muse pulled out her revolver pointed it at my knee caps and fired. As I lay in a (figurative) pool of my own blood, my muse only laughed wildly pulling out a fifth of vodka from her shirt.

I then brought it up to my fiancee, the down to earth muse. She rolled the idea around in her head for a minute and asked me a few quick questions. I was honestly hoping she would have said “No, that’s a stupid idea” but instead I found myself on the floor crying as my other kneecap was shot with a revolver. The details are a bit fuzzy after thatm, but I remember my fiancee telling me to stop whining and go back and write.

So I did. I decided to continue writing the first draft with my main character as a male and I would change it on my second draft. Yet even with these intentions, I would try to keep going but a soft voice would prevent me. Hunched over in the back of the room would be M constantly staring, unblinking as she keeps reminding me, destroying all concentration and motivation,

“Your protagonist is now a woman. The scene you are writing now means nothing.”


So lately I’ve been reading and playing video games instead.


3 Comments to “Revolver Wielding Muses”

  1. SO, ultimately this whole blog post pretty much exists to tell us that you have been skipping writing and just playing video games and reading. I can see your muse right now saying “you’re making excuses again….” lol

  2. you guys have a revolver?

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