Why do you do those things you do.....

Writers are strange creatures... we know this, we are this, we don't mind this---- I actually think writers have the only socially acceptable form of mental disorder. I mean, who else can get away with having multiple personalities and murderous intent.... if the FBI ever researched our browser histories, we'd all be on the watch list (though, who's to say we aren't already).

And, because we are such strange creatures, there are a few traits, er... habits, some of us have picked up along the way. Even famous writers still cling to rituals that run the gamut from the eyebrow-quirking unusual to the absolutely bizarre.

Like Capote, who only wrote while lying down and smoking/drinking. Or, Nabokov, who wrote his novels on small index cards that he kept paper-clipped together. Then there's Cheever who purportedly wrote in his underwear. And, lastly, there's Eliot, who would, occasionally, only respond to "Captain" while sitting with his face tinted green, looking for all intents and purposes, like a cadaver.

I'll admit, I don't have any habits as weird or as eccentric as some of these writers, but, perhaps I should? If hopping around, clucking like a chicken while I churn out prose could get me published, I'd cluck all day, everyday.

No, nothing remotely that strange here.

I'm a midnight writer, having written some of my best pieces at 2 am. I suffer from chronic insomnia (a trait inherited and conditioned) but, over the years, I've come to relish my sleepless nights... at least, if they're productive sleepless nights.

Apparently I need quiet, when I'm working--- no, that isn't quite right--- I need solitude. And, it's more than just closing the door to my cave, er... office. In the wee hours of the night, the world is asleep--- there's no threat of phone calls, no unexpected knocking at the door, the neighbors and husband are silent and out of sight--- the world has shut down and I am ALONE. There's nothing. There's no one. Just me and my strange head-characters. I even step outside sometimes, just to take in a deep breath of solitude and marvel at how beautiful the world can be when it shuts its mouth. This is the time, at least for me, when I invoke my muse--- for Humphrey is photo-sensitive and camera-shy. He doesn't like blinding lights or obnoxious noises, they give him a migraine and make him cranky.

So, spill, what's your deepest, darkest writing ritual/secret? What gets your juices flowing and your muse cooperating?

Whether you prefer writing in longhand with a red pencil or feel compelled to recite Homer's Invocation of the Muses before you begin---whatever your habit---let it be the reason you begin, and so in beginning, let it be the reason you finish. Because, isn't that the whole reason for the writing and the ritual in the first place? The finishing?

"Make the tale live for us

in all its many bearings,

O, muse."

L is for Loch Ness Monster....

With Kelpie, for my 'K' entry, still fresh, I thought it'd be fun to stick to the water for a bit. So, while we're in the realm of Celtic water creatures, why not visit with the most famous and widely known of aquatic beasties---- the Loch Ness Monster. Though, Nessie, sort of skirts the line of supernatural creature as it is purported by many to be a cryptid, a creature whose existence has yet to be identified by the scientific community. Those who believe Nessie an unidentified animal, have speculated that it is from the line of Plesiosaurs, while the scientific community claims it's just a modern-day myth, or at the very worst--- a hoax. I've included the Loch Ness Monster as part of my Supernatural theme because, like Bigfoot, there's an, albeit EXTREMELY, remote chance that it's real, but, like ghosts, I won't believe it until I see it myself----- I'm a card-carrying skeptic, but, I can enjoy a smidgen of the illogical now-and-again-...

K is for Kelpie.....

Today's entry is dedicated to my wonderful social club pledge sister, who sent me off from our college sanctuary with a copy of "Scottish Folk and Fairy Tales", containing an inscription that the "magic and mischief of the Kelpie follow me".... She knew I had an affinity for water and for mischief...and for all-things Celtic--so the Kelpie seemed to suit---- though, I'm not quite as savage as many folktales paint Kelpies. Kelpies are Celtic water horses, believed to haunt the lochs and rivers of Scotland and Ireland. The Kelpie was known to appear as a "lost pony", though, its identity is given away by its constantly dripping mane. Most stories give the color of the Kelpie's coat as black, though there are a few that mention the color white. The texture of the Kelpie's skin is likened to the smoothness of a seal, but its temperature is "cold as death to the touch." Like many other tales of supernatural creatures, the Kelpie...

A to Z reflections....

Another A to Z challenge comes to an end--- another collection of posts and poetry have been written, another deep breath of relief is released. For my fellow bloggers that survived as well, it's another 'challenge-completed' notch carved into the writing desk. I've come to enjoy my yearly foray into the world of all things alphabetical. This was my third year, though it was only the second year I had a workable theme (which made the challenge substantially easier than the first year I attempted this challenge.) And, though my first year was difficult because my focus was so scattered, I found this year was more difficult because I lost the enthusiasm that came with the first year excitement----excitement which helped me plug along until the end of the challenge. Year 3 was a success in the sense that I completed the challenge, though, this was the year that almost wasn't---- Somewhere about a third of the way through the challenge, I seriously considered...

From the Inkwell, From the Vein.....

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