Muse-eo, oh Muse-eo, wherefore art thou, Muse-eo

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Amy Lynn

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...or, What does one do when one's muse hurts them?

When I write, I draw deeply on my life's events. With that as a wellspring, I then try to either create a cohesive story out what has happened to me, or embellish these events to create 'worlds' that didn't exist yet are things I wish would have happened. In Andy's Diary, the events are all true and little is embellished -- only as it said on Dragnet, names have been changed to protect .....

In the case of Like Brothers, Like Sisters, things are more of the 'wish-filled' nature. I started writing Part 3, and one paragraph into it, it suddenly hit me that younger brother Timmy, is me. I know in my mind where the story is going to go. I know what is going to happen to Timmy and how Jeff will help him. Not to worry, its good things, so it should make me happy to live the events through Timmy. However, I can't write it. It hurts too much. I suddenly feel all this pain well up inside me I wanted to be cared about the way that I I know Timmy will be. Its like a glass wall that I can see through, yet can't walk thorough. Yet my muse keeps tossing ideas at me, but the pain prevents me from writing them.

I need some help -- how can I handle this situation

Huggs

Amy-Lynn

PS -- apologies to anyone who has PM'd me to whom I've not replied lately. The business of life sometime gets in the way -- oh to be 13 again and getting ready for long summer days by the lake reading 16, Tiger Beat, and Seventeen, after having bought a new bra and panties. Life was so much simpler then.

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Wanting...

Not to worry, it's good things, so it should make me happy to live the events through Timmy. However, I can't write it. It hurts too much. I suddenly feel all this pain well up inside me...I wanted to be cared about the way that I know Timmy will be. It's like a glass wall that I can see through, yet can't walk thorough.

There have been times, of course, where I've wept over the pain a character might go through; they're our children, after all. But there have been those times where the story takes me into a place of my own life that might have been...the things I might have done or the people I might have grown to know or the simple things like what clothing I might have worn in 1966 instead of jeans and a tee shirt.

And I have wept as hard as I ever have for what was lost. But it brought me closer to who I am today, just as that longing pain you've felt has brought you to the person you are. And that will help portray that wanting to be cared for in a way that a mere story cannot. I look forward to the next chapter.

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena