The Lure of Free, and the Fickle, Heartless Muse

Ah, my sweet sweet Muse, why do you torment me? What I need is adult UF. What you gave me yesterday was Heathers-esque YA. I’m not precisely complaining, it’s just…we need to work together here, right? Not in different directions. Look, I have some bonbons here. Pretty bonbons all wrapped up in shiny foil. You like bonbons, right? That’s a good girl.

Now, let’s work on these short stories, what do you say?

It won’t work. She’ll take the bribe and do what she wants anyway. Fickle, heartless wench.

In other news, a long Memorial Day weekend was full of cleaning. The garage is organized, our Free pile down at the end of the driveway disposed of mattresses and various other things. I am constantly amazed at the lure of “free.” There is no word more likely to get someone’s attention. I suspect there is some cultural or even evolutionary reason for it.

The house is cleaned out, stuff neatly bagged and boxed. The books are sorted. The UnSullen not only fetched, carried, organized, swept, and otherwise cleaned, but he also built a patio for us and took the kids to the track to fly paper airplanes. Our across-the-street neighbor put several items in with his garage sale, thank goodness. All in all, everyone worked hard this past weekend, and I was able to breathe a sigh of relief yesterday. The kind of relief one feels after running a marathon and reaching the end without collapsing.

Now if I can just get this damn story to coalesce. I like the Heathers-esque YA with Stepford vampires, but it’s not exactly what the anthology people want.

Yeah, yeah, I know. My life is so hard.

It’s time to bring out the big guns. When in doubt and when the Muse is refusing to percolate, there is only one solution.

Fairy tales.

I’m gonna get out my Grimm’s and my Briggs. See you around, kiddos.

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