Dear Beloved Spark of Inspiration,
I thought we had a deal. I take the ideas you give me, turn them into a pretty story using my mad English skill, then we get published, sell a bazillion copies, see Jason Momoa cast as Feyd in our blockbuster movie (s), and retire to Scotland with The Kilted One and the cats while we repeat the cycle with Books Two and Three.
But you seem to have missed a few bits.
Yes, we’ve mapped out Book Two and Book Three. We know what happens to who, when and where…and even why, for the most part!
You know what you forgot to tell me?
I’m sure this has just slipped your very busy mind while you’re daydreaming of Jason Momoa and Vladimir Kulich and whoever-it-was-who-played-Thorin, Richard something….
I still don’t know how to get to that heart-shredding, tear-jerking scene that sets the stage for Book Two!
You know, the one that has made it so I can’t listen to a particular pair of Halestorm songs? The one that physically makes my chest ache when I read it? That was some of your very best work, Darling Muse, and I’d like to make sure it has a proper lead-up.
So, if you could be so kind as to show me even the glimmerings of the path from the pits to the panic, I would be ever so appreciative.