My Non-Linear Muse

Inspiration is a fickle tool, not unlike a Compaq Presario laptop with a trickle of memory.

I find myself inspired at inappropriate times -- parties, dinner out, when I'm exhausted and just want to sleep. I try to carry a notebook around for the times I'm away from my computer, but this so often leads to, "What are you writing?" that I tend to forget it. I don't know why I'm so uncomfortable talking about my writing. I don't mind writing about it, though I get embarrassed when that writing takes place on an instant messenger, I have to admit. Perhaps this is a sign that I shouldn't be writing what I am writing. In that case, I have two problems with my muse.

Last night, as I was falling asleep, I had a 'brillliant' idea for moving from the second scene to the third (Getting Kyerick from the kitchen to work, for those of you who have had this foisted on you). I thought, "Shit. I need to write this down." But I was so sleepy, I convinced myself running through it a few times in my head was enough to remember it.

And it was--this isn't that kind of moral anecdote. The problem is, now that I sit down to write it, it's like pulling teeth. Every. Word. Sticks. In. My. Head. And. Won't. Come. Out.

Since I think 3 people have this address, I will write it out here. After all, making my writing better and easier is the whole point of this blog.

I wanted to introduce the Sidhe earlier than I was. I also knew that I'd already set up the world to have low quantities of high-grade iron, and yet items that might require it. Finally, I wanted Rayln's heritage to be in question before it's answered, and needed to delete the scene I had previously planned on using for this. So to solve all these in one fell swoop, I decided to have goblins. Goblins pick up the iron in the Sidhe's realm, and cross over and sell it to Kyerick, who they like, because they practice ritual scarification, and Kyerick's scars say to them, "Here's a man who has weathered." I haven't decided what they trade it for. Maybe gold. That makes sense. I'll bet they try to trade it for babies, because goblins also steal children (but Kyerick wouldn't go for that--though he might bargain safety for his niece and nephews and later Kari). Or whiskey. Because drunken goblins are funny.

I have these images of the goblin traders in my head: there are four of them. They have beady black eyes and rings of scars around their eyes and noses. They have long sooty fingers and feet like a bird's. Scraggly, weedy hair and clever mouths. One has an enormous cross-bite. One's young and his scars are still scabby.

The movement comes when an apprentice shows up, having run from the Crying Gull Forge, panting about goblins. Kyerick swears and gets on a horse, with the readers assuming that he's supposed to go do the fantasy defender thing. When he gets there, the goblins are crouching out back, waiting to do business and drink whiskey at nine in the morning.

Later, when Rayln is hanging around the forge, they will see her--probably once they've started drinking--and be scared and think she is their queen. She will speak Goblin to them and not know she's doing it.

That might be too much. Tricking people into thinking I'm taking it somewhere I'm not seems a little cheap. Maybe when the muse comes back, I'll sort it out.