“Ow, ow, ow, ow! Okay, I’ll start writing something.”
Lorelei let go of my nipple and said, “I know you want to put your books online, but you have to keep writing too.”
“I could start an outline this weekend. I’ve got that cool Corkulous Pro app I used last time.”
She pointed at me, “When you’re creative,” she turned her finger toward herself, “it feeds the Muse.”
“So you’re like a parasite th–
“Ow, ow, ow, ow! You’re not a parasite, you’re not a parasite.” I rubbed my aching chest, “How’d you like me to twist your boobs?”
“In, your, dreams. Do you need me to send some characters over?”
“No, I liked one you sent last Spring. I’m kind of a history buff, so I’m setting her story in the 1960s. There’s a lot of parallels to modern times. It might appeal to readers.”
She patted my cheek and said, “Aw, you’ve already been thinking about it, that’s so cute. Now, get out to that imaginary cabin and get started. Have that robot girl from Wild Concept put the coffee on, and don’t come out until you have some note cards made.”
“I’ve got a lot of research to do. I can’t get historical events out of order. I might have to spend some time online.”
Lorelei placed her hands on her hips. “No. Worry about plot and story structure first. Once you have that, you can go back and add detail to your cards.”
I looked her up and down. She looked good in her winter boots. “You know, there are gentler ways of inspiring me.”
“In, your, dreams. Maybe your robot girl can help you out there.”
“Eww. That’s just not right.”
“Now quit farting around with this blog, and get cracking.”
I listened to her boot heels clack as she walked away. I always did like that sound, but that’s just like a Muse, to inspire without even thinking about it.
I’m going to pace myself. Start an outline, make some note cards, ice my nipple, edit Panama, shop for a cover artist.
The emails I sent to artists all went unanswered. If they’re booked, they could at least say so. It’s probably an indication that I don’t want to work with them anyway.