This time it’s not fiction I’m writing. I will share with you a peek into the workings of the inner me. Or as Billy Joel calls them, the elves at play. (To listen to BJ telling this)
People who have read my writing will find Music a common theme. Not everything is about music, but yes, a lot of my work is.
This is mainly because I myself have been a musician all my life. I know a lot of musicians and I’ve been in love with a fair bunch of them. Ever since my first crush at age sixteen. (Read Writer’s Block: It must be love, for that story)
For many reasons Music was not THE career for me. So I became a nurse, who never could say goodbye to music.
Next to music, writing has always been something I’ve been doing.
Ever since I could form words and sentences, I’ve been putting stories to paper. Yes the old pen and paper it was, back then.
My crushes, love for artists I would never meet in person. It’s all in there. And hidden in those sentences, how I was feeling. Was I mad, was I sad. Or was I over the moon in ecstasy.
I’ve got bookshelves full of notebooks and binders, containing stories from early puberty up to when I got my first computer, back in 1995.
And after that, writing only became easier. Correcting mistakes no longer made dark blots on the paper. Just a case of backspaces and do-over’s. It also enabled me to start editing stories.
I grew in my writing. Inspiration started coming from other things than just what I experienced and saw on TV.
While growing up and getting over my early twenties, I went from a gloomy past into a very dark period in my life. Depressions seemed to take over. I had been stuck in a bad situation for one too many times.
I reached out and got help, in many forms. And I am thankful for everyone who helped me out. The one who helped me see that I was High IQ and Highly Sensitive. The one who helped me find my inner voice and the ones who just let me be who I was at that time. Angry, frustrated, sad. And they were also there on the way back up. Some are still with me now.
Slowly and surely I started to understand what was happening around me.
There were some key figures in helping me understanding it all. They often come up in my stories. Teachers, older friends, and even brothers. I love writing brothers.
Brothers are very easy going characters. A bit protective of a female lead. And not afraid to tell her the truth.
While getting my life back together, I got hit by a writer’s block. A real one. For about three years I’ve not written a sentence. Ironically enough, I did work in a bookstore at that time. So lack of inspiration should not be the problem.
I never worried about that. I was sure it would be back, if the time was right. And it did return to me.
In the form of a concert and a very vivid dream afterwards.
I wrote a novel in the three weeks following, aside from working more than full time. (This is a story in Dutch, found at my own website www.linnie.net)
And after that, the block was lifted, my Muse was back.
Back to that vivid dreaming for a moment. A lot of stories, or parts thereof, originate in those dreams. An image, a feeling or even a song can awaken a story in me.
My muse has been busy ever since. Not every story makes it to a finish. And many of those who do make it to the end can’t be published. Either because of the lousy quality or the resemblance to reality. Characters sometimes may feel like people from real life, but they never are. (Well, except maybe brothers. I do love my brothers)
My characters, especially the leads, became more their own person and less 2-D. My female leads went from whiny Cinderellas to kick ass women. Women I would adore and love to know in real life. Tainted by life, but happy and able to deal with the crap that life throws at us.
And the men went from knights in shining armor to real men, with faults. Who do not always say the right things at the right time.
So where does that leave my Muse? She’s constantly playing and toying with me. Daring me to walk the unbeaten paths and write the best stories I can. Explore new genres.
I can’t believe it’s only been a few months that I started writing in English and have already written three stories since then. It’s almost like they’re writing themselves. Which of course every writer will tell you. A story should be telling itself. The writer is only the medium that puts it to words.
More than once I find myself mad at a main character. Almost yelling at them: “Why the hell did you do that for?” Because they upset my view on where the story was heading. Yes, my Muse can be a Queen Bitch.
My muse, as well as a few writer friends, also inspired me to try a new genre, erotic fiction. Oh, the fun I had with that one. (Story: Home. Friends only)
So that’s her. My Muse. Sister, best friend, Queen Bitch. And I love her for all of it. She even acquired a name. Caitlyn.
So this is me and my Muse, Caitlyn. Writing, singing, painting and having fun. Dirty minded and well witted.
And who were the Muses to my Muse?
The Bronte Sisters were a big influence. And then mostly Charlotte. Her almost plain style of writing touched me to the core. I have read her novel Jane Eyre dozens of times.
Also Roald Dahl. He was very good in making normal, everyday people, kids, into heroes.
Someone who can also write normal people very well is Roddy Doyle. The woman who walked into doors is a masterpiece. Still have to read the sequel.
And last but not least, a woman who is an example for me, when writing strong women, Joanne Harris. Her most famous book is Chocolat. A very good, strong novel. And the even better Holy Fools. Maybe my favorite book after Jane Eyre.
And now, as singers say: mi mi mi mi, enough about me…..
Caitlyn and I would like to thank you for reading our stuff. Please don’t be afraid to leave a comment on the way out.