I’ve been screaming at the toilet all day. For those of you who aren’t privy to that phrase, it means I’ve been yarking my guts up every time I eat something. But it makes me think of a story that I will write after I can sit up for longer than 10 minutes: a human women who is turning into something else. I don’t know what she’s turning into yet, but she and I will get there. And her metamorphosis is going to suck. She’s going to feel how I feel at this very moment: light headed, tired, extreme sour stomach, faint… And when she’s finished turning, she is going to be magnificent.
It’s weird how certain situations make me think of writing. It’s good. What’s been eating at you to be let out? A novel? A poem? A novella? A picture? A song, even?
Sometimes your muse quietly waits in the background, waiting for you to get started. At other times, the muse is pointing a crossbow at your head telling you to make it happen; write, paint, finger paint, whatever. Just do it.
And as soon as I am physically able, me and my muse are going to bake cookies and write stories with macaroni noodles. Because she's awesome and likes to do things like that.