Light Bulb Moment

The light bulb moment.  Let's start this by me complaining about my muse.  My muse is evil.  My muse is never available when I need it.  My muse spends a lot of time waiting for the right time to strike.  When is the right time?  When I'm busy, in the middle of something, finishing a report for work, finishing a paper for school.  I feel those ice cold lips on my ear whisper what if.

My friends know that look, the look of insanity and inspiration I get.   I'll grab whatever's close and whatever will make a mark, sometimes I'll even write on myself.  Then I spend time looking like a strange automatic writer (these are people, usually mediums, that let spirits communicate through them in the form of writing).  This might not be a bad way to write a book, except most of it looks like scribbles.  Very similar to my writing most of the time.

My current light bulb went off after a night of gaming.  We were discussing some of the new races that had been developed and a half-demon was mentioned.  Flash forward to the next day at a friends apartment.  He's talking about a new game he wants to show me, then bam.  I spend the next hour writing the opening scene to the second trilogy I planned to write while he played video games.  I know, a little odd.  So is the muse.



My other ideas have came from conversations with inebriated friends, bad jokes, and staring at the moon.

Welcome to my nightmare . . . I am a writer.