Loucinda McGary (aka Aunty Cindy) has just such a muse, aka Ms Crankypants. She is not at all quiet about her thoughts on the matter either. Ms. CP is a highly creative but argumentative wench. Also well loved by Cindy. But I'll let her tell you all about it.
Thanks so much, Sia, for inviting me to join you today Over Coffee. But first let me get this one thing out of the way:
Buy my book, PLEASE!
According to my grumpy muse, this is the only reason to go on a blog tour – it’s all about pushing your current book.
I’ve tried to argue with her. I pointed out that it is not just trying to sell books. Blog tours are all about connecting with readers, developing a rapport with your audience, networking and promoting yourself and your work in the book world.
She just snorts (and rather rudely at that) and reminds me in no uncertain terms that if I don’t get my butt back in the chair and work on my WIP (work-in-progress) that there will be nothing for my readers to read, much less a reason for me to promote. (Aunty sighs heavily.)
She’s correct, of course, but does she have to be Ms. Crankypants? This entire blog tour has been a real test of wills. I sit down to write another guest blog post, and she throws a major hissy that I need to get back to my characters. I mutter about promotion, and she counters with my need to have a product to promote.
Yes, my muse is a harsh task-mistress… Not unlike what some people say about yours truly (and that would be my son and DH waving from the front of the crowd), but they hardly count because most of them make little effort to appease me. I, on the other hand, try really hard to obey Ms. Crankypants, even though she takes my story off in completely unexpected directions and has my characters doing and saying things I never imagined they would.
So why do I put up with her bossy and contradictory ways?
Because she never leads me astray, and this is critical for a seat-of-the-pants writer like moi. I can’t be wasting a lot of time and effort traipsing down the wrong path with my story, and as long as I trust Ms. Crankypants, I don’t.
I’ll give you a recent example. I love to end my chapters with a strong “hook” so that the reader has a hard time putting the book down (yes, I LOVE hearing that someone stayed up all night to finish one of my books). Being that die-hard seat-of-the-pants writer who never exactly knows where I’m going in my story at any given time, I sometimes have a difficult time finding that chapter ending hook.
Such was the case as I was writing my first draft of Chapter 4 of The Wild Irish Sea. I needed to find a hooky ending and I was utterly clueless what it might be. Enter my muse, aka Ms. Crankypants. After much wailing and gnashing of teeth over trying to figure out an ending for my chapter, I left my office and headed to the kitchen for a large dose of chocolate therapy. As I walked past the dining room table, I tripped over one of my DH’s sneakers. Do not ask me why, but the man insists on changing his shoes in the dining room (see my above comment about being a harsh task-mistress, but apparently not harsh enough). As I muttered a curse and kicked the shoe farther under the table to rest nearer its mate, Ms. Crankypants whispered, “What if that was Parker’s shoe, and it was washed up on the beach?”
Oh. My. Gosh!
I grabbed three Hershey’s kisses from the dish on the buffet and rushed back to my office to type the perfect ending for the chapter:
“The rain and the waves had swept smooth the sand around the half-buried boulders just as Kevin suspected. A few pieces of driftwood, hunks of seaweed and other debris lay tangled in the crevices around the rocks. If anyone had been through here, even as recently as this morning, no trace of their passing remained.
“While he breathed in a large draught of fresh, clean air, Amber sunk to her knees in the wet sand at the base of the closest rock. She clapped both palms flat against the sides of her head and squeezed her eyes shut.
Still trying to contact her brother.
…Through the remaining mist of rain, he spied the jutting black prow of the curragh at the same moment a shrill cry rang out. ‘Hallo! Kevin! Hallo! Amber!’
For the first time in the ten hours since they’d met, Kevin was genuinely glad to see Connor Magee. The boy stood and waved his cap in the air, while someone else, undoubtedly Michael Coyle, sat in the stern of the boat steering it.
Connor shouted again, and Kevin waved back.
"We’re about to be rescued," he called over his shoulder to Amber while the curragh angled toward shore.
…Her shoulders slumped and her head drooped in defeat. Behind him, Kevin heard the hull of the curragh scraping on sand. A moment later, Connor raced up to them.
“Kevin! Amber! I told Uncle Michael we’d find you," the boy breathlessly exclaimed.
“…C’mon!" Michael Coyle called out from the beached curragh. "You can talk later."
“Stall the ball half a minute," Connor yelled back. He plunked his hat on Amber’s head and grasped her by the elbow. "Tis only a short ride back to Malin Head."
While ConnerConnor towed Amber toward the curragh, Kevin took one more quick glance up the small crescent of sand.
Empty.
But then his gaze moved over the rocks. Sticking up in the midst of the greenish-brown kelp, he spotted an object that didn’t belong—a shoe.
A large shoe. The red and gray treads on the sole were unmistakably those of a trainer.
An American trainer.
So, my muse may be grumpy and cantankerous, but she really does deliver! I think I’ll be keeping her around for a good long while. After all, what’s a little orneriness between friends?
Thanks again for having me as a guest and listening to my tale of woe. Please pass the chocolate!
Wild Irish Sea back cover blurb:
Drawn together by a force they can't resist...
The telepathic image of her twin brother fighting for his life sends Amber O'Neill rushing to the rocky shores of Ireland. Desperate to find him, she turns to reclusive local inspector, Kevin Hennessy.
Bound together with a passion as relentless as the tide...
His past full of pain, Kevin has withdrawn from the world. But when the rain-drenched American appears on his doorstep with her wild tales of danger, something more than her sensuous beauty makes it impossible for him to turn her away.
The wildness of the sea, the mystery of a selkie prince, and a dangerous band of ruthless smugglers bring two lost souls together in a connection of mind, body, and spirit that can't be denied...
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Other books: Wild Sight, The Treasures of Venice
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