My muse, the little bitch,

has extremely bad timing. I have been doggedly working on my fantasy romance exclusively for some time now. Let me just say that I am a distraction junkie. But for the past six months at least, I have fought my junkie urges and focused my attention almost laser-like on finishing this book. And then it was done. And while I was still on the wagon, I jumped write into writing a query letter and a synopsis. I am such a good girl. Sure, I was tempted. Other characters and plots flitted at the edge of consciousness or broke down the door of my defenses from time to time, but for the most part, I kept them at bay, having learned already the hard way that any detour makes it way, way more difficult to get yourself back on track. I was going to see this one book through before I ran off chasing the shiny new story.
And then yesterday, it all fell apart. Apparently my muse-- in the manner of an all out, PMS, pay attention to me damn it, hissy fit, set before me something that I could not resist. I am an addict, you see, and my muse knows this. She knows I am a whore for following links to new music or movie trailers. I don't even really like movies, and I don't buy much music, but dangle a link to a Youtube live performance in front of me and baby, will I dance.
I already knew that my next project would be to revisit that failed mystery novel, my learning book, because it had well-developed, compelling characters and an interesting setting that was a character all its own. I knew that if I combined those elements with a different plot, I'd have something that could sell and that I would enjoy writing. I already new that my heroine was going to get a complete makeover— new name, new job, new past-- but all I know about her so far is that she's going to be returning home to Kentucky after a failed attempt to make it big in Nashville. All these threads, I would weave together after-- and only after-- I had queried agents and editors and was on my way to getting a contract for my book—the one that I already finished! This was the right way, the logical way.
But when I came across this link, a cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" by Allison Crowe, logic went flying out the window as though born on the wings of an acid trip. the pieces of this new story started to fit together and a theme emerged, and theme is usually the very last thing to come to me. I can't explain how it happened, but the story is clear to me now and is demanding my attention. I know other writers say they create playlists to accompany each of their works in progress, to help them get back to that mental place where their story lives and to get into the minds of their characters, but for me it just seemed like a procrastination device and a time leach, but obviously, there is something more to it.
Inspiration is a funny thing. Trying to describe it is like trying to nail Jell-O to a wall. It's an "Ah-hah!" moment that's more about feeling than explaining. It shifts and drifts like potsmoke.
So here I am, stoned, in the middle of the road, watching the ass end of that wagon get smaller and smaller as I bask in this new story glow.
NOTE: Blogger hates me today, so if the link doesn't work and you want to visit the clip that sent me over the edge, the url is
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIMOdVXAPJ0
yes, I am a pusher now.