labour pains of ruv

Someone once compared writing to giving birth. I disagree: it's like being in labour. First you get this little pain--"oops, it's time to sit down and write!" but then you have to spend a couple hours working up to actually writing. Fits and spurts. So you sit and think, then you get up and pace, then you rearrange your desk, then you have a cup of coffee, then you water your plants...maybe back to your desk once or twice when you feel a really big urge to write...but it always goes away and now it's time to go make another cup of coffee or scream at your roommates when they interrupt you. Because you really can't rush the muse ("you did this to me, you basaaaaarrgh!") as much as you'd like to finish draft five and put in "Twin Peaks." I'm sitting here now, in the midst of revising (I've no doubt, when the time comes for me to be in actual labour I will spend a great deal of it surfing the internet.) waiting for that next contraction to strike--I've got the main character recovered from a stabbing wound, but her other half has exited, so it's either break a convention and have her talk or...or wait until the muse comes back again.

Damnit, ROGER, hurry up.

Kind of exciting, isn't it? Watching me write? I know that it's unusual to say the least--writing being such a solitary thing--that to suddenly have me pop up in the middle of a draft and say hello.

Oh-oh-oh, wait....

nope, false alarm.

hmm....I wonder if I have any cake left...