The Inconvenient Muse

I seem to be an expert at bad timing. This is nothing new. Urges to clean and sort at midnight, errands tacked on to other errands even though there wasn't time for the first, let alone more.
And now, of all improbable things, I've got a muse nattering away in my head. All hours of the day (and night). In the very midst of mothering, cleaning, sorting, and home improvement projects- suddenly bits and pieces of story ideas are attaching themselves to my brain. Laundry sorting musings, driving daydreams, shower ruminations. It's like having a board meeting running as background noise in my head. People keep stopping in the middle of sentences to say "What? What are you staring at?". And then I need to reign in my galloping brain and tell them quite honestly I was just lost in thought. I mean, lost in thought is hardly a new thing for me. But now the thoughts are less my usual philosophical musings and more, well - scenes. Sort of like trying to watch TV while someone is channel surfing. A scene here, a character there - a plot line, a bit of conversation.

Great, right? New career, yes? Except for 2 small problems: finding the time to write at the time the idea hits, and (the larger hurdle) - I have zilch clue how to write fiction. I think the last time I wrote something that wasn't a report, essay, letter, or devotional was sometime back in high school, maybe even grade school. Okay, I fib. I've written a few clown skits for various church functions, VBS and the like.

So, being the (usually) practical sort I figure my brain is just giving me an amusing good-for-something-someday diversion and proceed to ignore it.

Uh huh. The Muse is kind of like royalty. "We do not like being ignored. We will show you what happens to those who ignore Us."

And then the dreams started. Full MGM technicolor, many with whole stories of their own. I started writing them down, thinking perhaps they were simply the result of my ongoing spiritual adventures. Just the result of cleaning out spiritual closets (says I).

So now, with school out, and our re-do-the-kitchen-floor project turning my schedule inside out, several very surreal nights of insomnia have shown me the truth of the matter.

The Muse is persistant.

One way or another, my brain *will* work overtime - if it's not on my story ideas, then it will take whatever fodder it finds. I nearly worried myself into a panic attack this week over something pretty silly. All because I've been telling myself that I don't have the time/ knowledge/ ability to write fiction, and so my whirling mind spun its own dark fantasies.

Makes me wonder if Mozart went around plagued by melodies, if his own characters stalked Shakespeare in his sleep. Maybe Van Gogh went mad because the world was awash in color and he couldn't paint fast enough to get the colors out of his head.

So, I guess I'll be finding time to scribble down my odd bits of stories, even if at this point they don't even make sense to me.

It would appear that the Muse deems it necessary to both my sleep and my sanity.