Stephen King speaks of his muse in his book, On Writing, The Memoir of the Craft: “There’s a muse, but he’s not going to come fluttering down into your writing room and scatter creative fairy-dust all over your computer. He lives in the ground. He’s a basement kind of guy.”
However, you do need to be wary of the muse’s sister, the critic, the conscious mind. Where the muse can put down beautiful words and a compelling story, the critic checks the work for poor structure and unbelievable characterization. She lives in the left side of the brain and has no time for play. She has a ‘to do” list that must be meticulously checked off.
Conflict will arise between the two and everyone who seeks to tap into their creativity subconsciously, will have to grapple with these opposing forces. A good example of this battle is explained by actor and film writer, Steve Martin, when he talks about his writing experiences: “The conscious mind is the editor, and the subconscious mind is the writer.
And the joy of writing, when you’re writing from your subconscious, is beautiful—it’s thrilling. When you’re editing, which is your conscious mind, it’s like torture. And I’ve just kind of decided that anytime it’s torture, I want to stop. I’ll put it down and wait until becomes not torture.”
By now, you may be interested in inviting your subconscious mind to come out and play. How do you make that happen when the conscious mind is guarding the door? The secret lies in getting your muse distracted, to work on a problem in the background while you’re doing something else.
Remember, my muse loves to dance. Not only does that get my “arse” out of the writer’s seat, it also gives me much needed time for my plot to thicken. This works best when I’ve been writing for a few hours and want to eat all the ice cream in the freezer. Instead, I dance. For you, it may be a repetitive activity like folding laundry, taking a shower, or meditating.
Now it’s your turn. Set your unconscious mind free and see what music, art, poetry…you fill in the blank type of creatively you can set free into the world.
The Golden Rose of Scotland
Ladies of Lore Series
Book Two
Marisa Dillon
Genre: Historical Romance
Ladies of Lore Series
Book Two
Marisa Dillon
Genre: Historical Romance
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing
Date of Publication: November 22, 2017
ASIN: B077678SYH
Number of pages: 247
Word Count: 78.955
Cover Artist: Anna Lena-Spies
Tagline: Romantic Adventures, Not for the Faint of Heart
Book Description:
When poisonings are an everyday occurrence, healer Rosalyn Macpherson must be ready with an antidote. Unless it’s for the English Lord who means to claim her clan’s Highland castle.
What’s in a name? Everything, for Lord Lachlan de Leverton, a charismatic English aristocrat. He’ll break the law to sever his ties to his notorious family. But first, he must secure the deed to Fyvie Castle before the feisty Scottish lass wins it.
Because of their conflicting claims, Rosalyn and Lachlan are ordered to appear in Edinburgh’s royal court, and in an unusual twist of fate, they are assigned as guardians, rather than prisoners, to a caravan carrying the Golden Rose, a papal gift for the King of Scots.
When the royal decree becomes a forced union between the two, it’s not the remedy Rosalyn had hoped for, but by now she doesn’t hate this Englishman quite as much.
Before the knot is tied, the Rose is stolen and Lachlan’s suspected of the crime. Rosalyn then faces the hardest decision yet. Must she sacrifice her precious Philosophers Stone or the land she loves, or both, to save him?
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/x4m12yodRR4
Excerpt:
Rosalyn
closed her eyes, trying not to panic, and took in a long, calming breath, until
Lachlan squeezed the air right out of her and she started gasping.
“Just
a little lower, my love. With this kind doctoring . . .”
“Let
me go,” she demanded, interrupting whatever suggestive words he had for her.
She squirmed against his hold. “You don’t understand.”
“All
I know is that one moment I’m winning a horse race against the bishop, and the
next you are in my arms.” He gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “You are a
gift from God. The bishop knew what I needed to be right again.”
“God’s
teeth, you are not right in the head,” she said, her tone more irritated than
she meant. “God would not punish me to make you whole.”
Rosalyn
wasn’t sure if it was her words or her wiggling that had the desired result,
but after a few moments of pushing against him, she broke free.
Rising
up from Lachlan’s chest, Rosalyn smoothed her tousled hair away from her eyes,
then with a tsk, she adjusted her bodice back in place.
When
she gazed down, wondering why he’d given up so easily, Rosalyn was greeted by a
placid Lachlan, looking very much like he was asleep.
She
wanted to slap him and tell him to quit pretending. But then she noticed his
heavy breathing and relaxed, almost angelic, face.
Lachlan
angelic? A hero? No wonder Ursula had looked at her as if she’d joined the
ranks of the jesters. Where had her sensibilities gone? Was it that disarming
smile?
Just
then, the wagon jolted forward and began to move, rocking her onto his chest
again. As much as it flustered her, this time he did not grab her. Instead, he
lay still, her body rising and falling rhythmically with his breathing. This
time she was able to move away at will.
The
poison.
No doubt it was giving him some lucid moments between bouts of delirium. As she
gazed down at the peaceful, sleeping aristocrat, she was reminded of her
dislike of everything English. Could she make an exception for Lachlan? Was she
going all soft on him because of his one kind gesture? But she sobered when she
considered the consequences of her actions without his intervention.
For
now, she would try to like him until he did something to change her mind. At
least until she saved him.
Rocking
back on her heels, Rosalyn touched his forehead to check for fever. She was
grateful to find him cool now, but she was still concerned. Ursula had said
she’d made the poison strong enough to make him sick, not kill him. Could she
trust her?
Rising,
Rosalyn headed to the low altar and busied herself preparing the herbs,
thankful that she was able to do this alone and not under the eagle-eyed
scrutiny of Ursula.
Besides
the herbs, it didn’t take her long to find the other items she needed stored
neatly under the altar’s skirting: a pestle and mortar, and a flask of water.
She unwrapped the bishop’s herbs from the fuchsia silk and laid them out.
Taking
pinches of valerian, horehound, and sage, she placed them in the mortar, then
added a few drops of water. Using the pestle, she formed a sticky paste. Once
satisfied with the concoction, she headed back to Lachlan’s side, on a mission
to save him.
“Lachlan,”
she whispered, “wake up.”
He
groaned and flipped over on his side facing her.
“Lockie?”
She tried the nickname he’d asked her to use, hoping it might illicit a better
response.
“Ursula?”
Ursula!
What?
“Yes,”
she lied. “It’s Ursula. I want you to eat something.”
“Eat?
No!” He almost shouted the response.
Hmm. What to do if
he refused the antidote?
Time
was her enemy now, and she couldn’t wait until his constitution changed. She
glanced about the tidy wagon trying to figure out how to feed him the herbs.
Nothing. No bread or fruit to use as a serving tool. Stumped for a moment, she
relaxed her breathing and began to sort through what might make Lachlan open
his mouth.
Finally,
deciding saving his life was more important that her squeamishness, Rosalyn
scooped up some of the paste on to her middle finger, then she lay down on the
floor facing him.
Because
his arm was draped under his head, she was able to scoot right next to his
chest and get close enough to suit her needs. Once situated, she said a little
prayer, asking God to let the herb and his power save Lachlan.
About the Author:
With a bachelor’s degree in journalism, Marisa has spent many years writing for the television industry. As an award-winning producer/director/marketer, she has worked on commercial production, show creation, product branding and social media.
Marisa has always enjoyed reading romance novels and now realizes a dream come true, writing page-turning romantic adventures.
Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/de5Htv
Website: https://marisadillon.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/marisadillon
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