[5 of 365]:
Have you ever noticed that writing has a mind of it’s own. I start with the idea to write one kind of thing and end up with a completely different scene from a completely different genre in the end. What I’ve been learning over the last few days is that fighting with my Muse is a big mistake. If I try to hold her focus on what I want to write, I get ridiculous drivel that I don’t even want to read again, let alone post for others. On the other hand, if I give in to my Muse and just provide her with a playground filled with blank pages, colored pens, and all the weird cluttered stories in my mind, she comes up with some interesting shit.
For today’s writing prompt, I started with an assignment that actually bored me, almost to tears. But, halfway through I was reminded of one of the novellas I was working on earlier this year (a story that never went anywhere except the round file, unfortunately). And an exciting piece of background story just popped onto the page in front of me. In an effort to show you what I mean, I included the first few sentences that I wrote down, so you can actually see where my Muse took over.
Let me warn you, this piece is raw, with plenty of swearing and violence. So, if that’s not your bag, I suggest you check out one of my personal development articles and sit this one out. In any case, thanks for reading this far. –LV
One of the many delights of fiction is naming. Name something. Start there. —The Pocket Muse
by Monica Wood
Buffy Billsner. Robert Monahan. Gyration and the Circle Band. Bill the Comet. Grable Jones. Uniper Cherry. Jasper Phillipson. Rasien. The Graspers. Clamp Dogs. Xyxtal from an alien world. He’s come to eat your laundry machine lint. He loves the taste of lint…. Sasha!
Sasha obviously had some unfinished business with clowns.
“Fucking shut up and answer the question Louie,” Sasha’s small, agile fingers waved the knife in front of his face. He grinned, assuming this was part of the sex games that he’d payed for.
“Yeah. I’ve been a bad boy. You should punish me.” Louie licked his lips in anticipation and started to get a hard on.
“No problem.” Sasha slashed the knife across his forearm avoiding the rope she’d used to tie him up.
“Fuck,” Louie dropped to half mast. “That shit hurts. You’re supposed to play rough, not cut me up.”
“Don’t you remember me, Louie? Don’t you remember buying me from Clovis the Flying Clown,” She slashed across his other forearm. “It was 4 years ago. I was only 14.”
“Fucking Bitch. You turned out just like your mother.” Sasha shook her wavy red hair off her shoulders and calmly placed the blade an inch from his right eye.
“Say something about my mother again, Louie, and you won’t be able to tell the difference between a bitch and a dog. I’ll make sure of it.” Louie stopped struggling to keep from cutting his face open.
“Okay, yeah, I remember you now. So what?”
“So what happened to Clovis?”
“Hell, I don’t know. He just took all that money and left. He didn’t even stick around to find out where we were sending you two whores.”
Sasha scratched the knife across his cheek and watched him bleed. Louie shouted again but Sasha knew no one would interrupt them. Everyone knew Louie liked it rough. Sometimes the girls came back so messed up they could turn tricks for a week. But since he worked for the Dogtown Brothers, nobody could do anything about it.
“Where is he now, Louie? You mean to tell me that my dad payed his debt and then just up and quit gambling. I don’t buy it.”
Louie spat onto the floor, “Last I heard he was in it up to his eyeballs in LA, but that was four months ago. Hopefully somebody has put the old bastard out of his misery by now.”
“Nobody but me is going to kill that clown Louie, you can bet on it.” Sasha lowered the knife and turned away.
“They aren’t going to let you walk out of here, Bitch.” Louie yanked his right arm free of the ropes and tried to lunge out of the chair, “I’ll make sure of that.”
Sasha pivoted around and slammed the knife into Louie’s ear, embedding all 5 inches of steel into his brain. She smiled as Louie twitched and wished it was her father. “Looks like our session time is up. I think I’ll pack.”
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How does your Muse communicate with you and how has it changed your writing? What kind of signs tell you to listen to your writer’s intuition? |
Comments, links to your writing prompt results, and lurkers are always welcome.
