This Summer Sucks

That picture is the personification of my Muse this summer.(and that looks a bit like my cat Matilda only without the stumpy legs and a lot thinner)  Not saying that dear old New England doesn't get hot, sticky days in the summer, but over two weeks of hot and humid?  Nah.  Except this summer.  This summer from Hell.  This loathsome, abominable, vile, odious (Sorry, I'll put the Thesaurus down) summer.  The best we can hope for at the moment is a bit of a drop in the humidity somewhere around the middle of next week.  Big Whoop.

Now before anyone starts feeling all bad for me - and there better be at least one of you who feels a pinch of sympathy right now- I have central air.  Strangely enough, that isn't helping the Muse at all.  The Muse says - Hey, it's green and warm and sunny - WTH are we doing sitting in here with all the doors and windows closed?  That's what we have to do all winter.  Hard to explain to a Muse that if I go outside it'll take approximately ten minutes before I'm sweating my glasses right off my face.  Maybe not even that long.

The Muse is now on strike.  I managed to squeeze out a paragraph yesterday.  At that rate the next book will be done some time around next summer.  That of course means there'd be two missed deadlines.  Muses don't quite grasp the concept of deadlines.

So - solution?   At the moment it's cleaning the house.  This should let everyone know just how desperate I am.  I loathe cleaning the house and will do all in my power to find an excuse not to do it.  So far I've moved all the furniture off the carpet in the office, washed said carpet, cleaned all the furniture off and moved it back onto the carpet, vacuumed off the throw pillows(and somehow managed to get my hair sucked into the vacuum which caused a great deal of yelling and hopping around) and have already organized a lovely folder with a lot of receipts in it for taxes - next year.  I'm now resting from changing the curtains before I go and clean the windows.  You can just smell the desperation here, can't you.  The hubby is starting to get worried.

The point of all this whining is basically to say that Muses are touchy things.  This, of course, comes as no surprise to writers although some newbies do need to be told just how touchy the bitches can be, if only so they don't think they've lost the knack just because they haven't written a chapter today.  Headache, family stress, tired after a trip, excited before a trip, allergies, weather...   You name it and it can make the Muse get uppity and contrary.  I think it's because so much of the writing is tied up with a writer's self, a writer's emotion.  It's not just a cerebral thing.  Whatever the part of the brain is that produces the compulsion to write is obviously the side that is touchy about when, where, and under what conditions it'll cooperate.

So my Muse(born in that touchy side of the brain) is miffed because it's too hot to go outside yet being stuck in the house at this time of year irritates it.(remember this writer lives in a part of the country where people are shut in for pretty much the entire winter)  As payback it's making this writer feel compelled to clean.(and for that you may now feel very sorry for me)  At least then I can say I've accomplished something I suppose.

I ask now for good vibes, appeals to Mother Nature, etc.  to end this heat wave and allow me to open the windows.  It's either that or I'll be reduced to cleaning out cupboards and scrubbing the kitchen floor.  Even my worst enemies could not wish such a dire fate upon me.