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I think back to why I became a writer to begin with. It all started with a germ of an idea…multiplied by a hundred. Two hundred! Notebooks full of ideas: good ideas, rotten ideas. They popped into my head at the most random and inconvenient of times. And I loved every minute of it.

Now I realize we all have ideas. It’s the implementing of these ideas that creates the problem. Yes, it’s a lovely idea. Can you write about it for 250 pages or more? Will it hold someone’s interest for that long? What exactly is the plot conflict for this idea? Is it fresh? Does it have a hook?

Looking at “The Dream of the Poet or, The Kiss of the Muse” by Paul Cezanne (above, obviously) makes me slightly ill. Did Cezanne feel this way? Gosh, he must have—look at his body of work. An angel, coming from the heavens to kiss your furrowed brow and deliver the goods.

Lucky guy.

Not that I’m bitter or anything. But my relationship with my Muse is..strained at best. In fact, we’ve not been on speaking terms for years now.

So what do we do with such uncooperative Muses? Didn’t they realize we had an appointment with them? That we’re here, laptops in place, large mugs of coffee on our end tables, and an eager ear for their words of inspiration?

We plow ahead. One word at a time. Yes, it’s a blank page. Maybe what we’re covering it with isn’t much better than a blank page. But it’s a point to edit from. You can’t make something better if there’s nothing there.

Things I do while my Muse is AWOL:

Work on a different section of the book than the one I’m currently stuck on.

Brainstorm: See how many ideas I can come up with—for the next two pages. Just the next two pages. Baby steps…

Research something pertaining to my book.

Edit a few pages. Sometimes reading back over something I’ve already written can get ideas flowing again.

Change the scenery: Run some errands. Find inspiration in the little things (jot little descriptions of the people I run across as I’m out, settings I see, the feel of the weather that day as I walk around.)

Hope my Muse is the forgiving type and doesn’t carry a grudge for too much longer…

The fantasy: I knock out a ton of writing at the beginning of the day.

The reality: I’m frequently distracted by email when I first wake up.  It seems vital to me that I respond immediately. This takes some time and then abruptly, it’s time to drive the school carpools.

The fantasy: A picturesque writing cottage  in a lovely village is my inspiring retreat as I pen timeless masterpieces that will be studied by collegians for generations.

The reality: I write on the go. I frequently write in the car, pediatricians’ or vets’ waiting rooms, the playground (while trying to ensure my daughter is not abducted by strangers) and carpool lines.  I’m a paperback mystery writer…fun stuff that’s a good escape. Not exactly The Divine Comedy, though.

The fantasy: After a restful night in the arms of Morpheus, I scribble quickly as my personal Muse prattles on and on.

The reality: I’m a raging insomniac. I rarely sleep more than 3 hours straight.  The Muse is never there; I have apparently deeply offended her, so I’m left to my own devices.

The fantasy: I write perfect prose while keeping an immaculate house, neatly attired children, and providing nutritious suppers.

The reality: I write decent first drafts. Draft ten, however, is much better. The house looks fine unless you look too closely (which I don’t advise. Please back away from the refrigerator, sir.)  The children do usually pass muster. Supper is hit or miss. Occasionally we’ll have a special occasion, which I call Breakfast for Supper –a charming name for Eggos, cereal, bananas, and pre-cooked bacon. (Oddly, this meal is a tremendous hit with my husband and children.)

The fantasy: A fan of my series approaches me with great excitement, burbling with admiration about my appearance on the Today show.

The reality: I’m recognized by someone who read a write-up in the local paper. Unfortunately, I’d just finished a grueling day of yard work in 95 degree Southern sun.  I hardly even recognized myself.

The fantasy: I write for myself at all times. Anything less would be selling out.

The reality: I write for my editors and my readers. Anything less and I would not be selling at all.

The fantasy: I am living my dream.

The reality: I am living my dream.  In the real world.

Defining yourself as a writer is a topic that I’ve touched on before. Agent Nathan Bransford’s blog post last week covered his exasperation with people whose identities are too wrapped up in being a writer. I usually agree with much that he writes, but this post had me scratching my head.

I guess he deals with many people who think themselves better writers than they actually are. I’m sure it’s frustrating to receive so many queries from people who write poorly and expect you to quickly respond with an eager acceptance of their manuscript. But do you have to be good to consider yourself a writer? Could you happily write a family history that delights everyone in your extended family and still be a writer? Could you pen the company’s monthly newsletter and still be a writer?

I think so.

Because being a writer goes a little deeper. It’s something many of us feel passionate about. I thought one of the comments on Nathan Bransford’s blog was interesting. It was by reader Adam Christopher and he wrote:

Say Mandy has a passion for rock-climbing. She goes all the time. She blogs about it. She takes part in a rock-climbing forum. She goes on big trips. She’s a bona fide, through-and-through rock-climber. During the day, she’s a receptionist at the HQ of a stationery chain. So what is she? Is she a receptionist? Does that define who she is? Not at all, she’s a rock-climber. Rock-climbing is her life.

I frequently don’t mention that I’m a writer when I’m doing mom stuff with other moms. It’s such a conversation-stopper. Much easier to be Mama and go with the flow. But I know deep down that I’m a writer. And it’s one of the greatest pleasures in my life.

I’ve been learning Twitter this week, and I feel a little like the bald guy in “The Scream.”

Folks who read my blog know that when it comes to reflecting on a topic, I tend to write on the more exhaustive side. Hopefully not the exhausting side.  Oddly enough, I’m not long-winded at all with manuscripts. I’m a big fan of The Elements of Style and its reminder to “omit needless words.”

Twitter certainly doesn’t allow for verbosity.

In fact, Twitter doesn’t allow you to put much of anything in context, either.  I love putting things in context.  ‘Having a rough day’ can mean you spilt your coffee, bit your tongue, and forgot the milk at the store.  Or ‘having a rough day’ could mean you lost your job, your dog, or your good health.

I just need to get used to Twitter, I think.  Facebook I like and get. For some reason, the interactions seem a little more personal.  This could be because I only have friends on Facebook and Twitter incorporates many other people—many of whom I don’t know.

Another problem with me and Twitter is that I feel a little like a Twit when I send a tweet. Oh, I’m fine when I’m forwarding cool links.  But my own personal observations and interactions don’t seem blather-worthy. 

If you’d like to follow my fledgling tweets, I’m: @elizabethscraig.

So these are my ideas for incorporating Twitter into my life. I’d love to hear anyone else’s, if they’re so inclined. 

Tweeting on mystery releases I’m excited about.

Tweeting on or retweeting interesting links and posts for writers.

Tweeting my writing progress each day (especially as a tool to keep myself on track.)

Some personal tweets, but not a lot. Not yet.  Maybe more once I warm up to the medium.

I’m a goal-setting kind of person. I love making lists and keeping notes. I like tracking my progress. And I like New Year’s resolutions.

But I always feel sad at the end of January each year. That’s when I realize that I have no trouble getting a treadmill at the YMCA…because all the people who made goals to lose weight or to get more fit have fallen off the bandwagon. I have to wonder what kinds of goals these folks made—was it something like ‘exercise 45 minutes every day’ or something more attainable like ‘exercise 20 minutes, 3 times a week?’ Did they say they wanted to lose 30 pounds, or did they make a more attainable goal of 5 –7 pounds in two weeks?

Writing is the same way. Many people tell me wistfully that they’d love to write a book if they had the time. But none of us have the time—we really don’t. The difference is that we’ve set workable objectives for ourselves and have applied a certain amount of discipline to the writing process.

When I was starting out, my goal was always a page a day. I knew that some days I’d be on a writing tear and would go far over a page. But that didn’t mean that the next day I didn’t have to write. I knew I needed to write every day, but only needed to produce a page by the end of it. An incremental goal, a daily goal, works well for me.

I’m writing more these days, but I’m still not setting myself up for a fall. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel each day. Instead of saying, “My goal is to finish this 215 page book”,” it’s “My goal today is to finish chapter 8.” For me, anyway, workable objectives keep writing fun. The challenge is still there, but it doesn’t overwhelm me.