Sometimes chasing the muse is like trying to fold smoke: damn near impossible. Then there are the times when you can't get the words down fast enough, scribbling in a near panic so as not to lose the lyrics that come pouring out. Most of the time it's just somewhere in between.
Last Thursday I met with a friend that I sometimes co-write with. We threw a few ideas at each other, a verse here and a chorus there, pieces of inspiration that haven't yet made it to full-fledged song status. Today I was looking over all of the notes I took from that meeting and wound up with most of a song. I'm riding the coattails of my friend's muse on this one, so he'll have edit privileges and ultimately the final say on the completed tune, but it feels pretty damn good so far.
Many writers will tell you that they don't enjoy writing, but they do enjoy having written. In my case, once the words start flowing again there is nothing else like it. There have been far too many dry spells in the past for me to complain about the process. I started this blog last month to force myself to write something, anything, five days a week. I did it, and occasionally not without a few moments of mild panic when I realized that it was approaching midnight and I still didn't have a clue as to what the subject for the day was going to be. As a result, I've written almost twelve thousand words in the last month, and it feels good. Maybe no one is reading this, maybe no one will ever read it, but at the very least I have honed my writing skills a bit, especially when it comes to prose.
I've always wanted to write a novel, but the song form is hard wired into my brain. Give me the most convoluted plot you can think of, and chances are I can condense it down to a three and one half minute narrative, and it'll rhyme. Maybe you can even dance to it.
So now I've written prose for a month, and I can see how it's a real possibility for me to actually complete a novel.