by Margaret Lucke

My Muse wanders into my office, tea mug in hand. As usual, she’s late.

“Finally!” I say. “Where have you been?”

She comes around behind and peers over my shoulder at the screen.

“That page is blank,” she announces.

Talk about stating the obvious.

“Well, duh,” I explain to her.

She leans forward to look closer. Tea splashes on my shoulder. “Why are there no words on it?”

“Because I haven’t started yet. I don’t know what to write.” Rubbing at the wet spot, I whine, “It’s your fault. If you would just show up on time …”

“Oh, you don’t need me.”

“Yes, I do.” Then I make my dire confession: “I have writer’s block.”

She laughs, which is not the response I was hoping for. “What a silly notion.”

“Are you claiming there’s no such thing as writer’s block? Because I can assure you it’s real. I can’t tell you how often I’ve been afflicted with–”

“—with fear, lack of confidence, perfectionism, procrastination, other things in your life that demand time and attention, and outside distractions. You know, your neighbors really should get rid of that annoying rooster–”

A loud cockle-doodle-doo from the adjoining backyard punctuates her point.

 “–but all of those are only excuses,” my Muse concludes. “All you have to do is start putting down words.”

By now I’m up from my desk, pacing around. The sight of the empty page has become unbearable. “I can’t just fill a page by writing blah blah blah one hundred times. The words have to make sense. They have to tell a story. They have to be exciting and compelling so the reader will get hooked and keep on reading.”

 “No, they don’t. You know what Nora Roberts has said: ‘I can fix a bad page. I can’t fix a blank page.’ At this point it’s okay to write drivel. Let your characters loose to wander around. They’ll stumble on the story sooner or later. Once they do, you can go back and pretty up the words.”

She sits down in my chair and sets down the mug. For a few seconds her fingers fly across the keyboard. Then she gets up again and dusts off the seat. “Okay, your turn.”

I read what she’s written: Once upon a time. Not much help. “What comes next?”

“Oh, you can figure that out for yourself.”

“But this is your job. You’re the Muse. You’re supposed to inspire me.”

“I just did.” She takes a sip of tea.

I stare at the words. No matter how hard I strain my brain, no thoughts are forthcoming. Finally I say, “I really need your assistance here.”

She shakes her head and giggles. “No, it’s up to you.”

“I can’t do it alone. What will it take to get your help?” I think for a moment, then say, “Suppose I bribe you with chocolate?”

My Muse breaks into a grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I prefer the dark kind. Almonds in it would be nice.”

I go to the kitchen and bring back a treat for each of us. When I sit down again, she places her guiding hand on my shoulder. I retype her phrase—Once upon a time—and then I make myself keep going.

Words tumble onto the page. They are clunky. They are awkward. To be honest, they are a hot mess. But slowly, oh so slowly, I can see that a few good ideas are beginning to emerge.  My Muse and I can fix the words later—so long as I remember to replenish my supply of chocolate.

* * *

I’m honored and delighted to be teaching a class called “Writing Genre Fiction” for University of California–Berkeley Extension this winter – 10 Thursday evenings, January 22-April 2 (no class on February 26 because I’ll be at the wonderful Left Coast Crime convention). It meets on Zoom so you can attend from anywhere. We’ll explore popular genres of fiction—mystery, thriller, science fiction, fantasy, horror and romance, covering techniques that are essential to all fiction while examining the characteristics, conventions and reader expectations associated with each genre. You can learn more here.

Let’s have some fun today. Help me finish this story.

The holidays are fast approaching so I thought we should all take a deep breath and kick back with a cooperative mystery for us to solve before everything gets crazy-busy.

 The best story I ever heard took place in the ladies’ bathroom at Mission Ranch in Carmel, a gorgeous property on the Monterey Bay owned by Clint Earwood. The only thing that has kept me from turning it into a fun short story is that the ending remains a mystery.

There’s a small two-stall bathroom just outside the property restaurant which is as quaint and charming as the setting itself so I was happy to head for it when nature called. When I went inside, both stalls were occupied. The women in the stalls obviously knew one another and were engaged in a conversation. I had to wait for one of them to come out before I could attend to business.

I’m a writer which means I eavesdrop, but even if I weren’t, their conversation would have been enticing.

… “that’s when I realized the door had locked with me inside. I tried but I couldn’t open it. I pounded on the door and called for help, but then I looked at my watch and saw it was after five o’clock. I guessed the building was empty except for me in the bathroom. The worst part was that it was a Friday night and probably no one would find me until Monday morning.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Not really. I mean I was concerned, but I was in a bathroom so I had water and facilities. I even had half a sandwich in my purse that I saved from lunch and it didn’t have mayo on it so it would be safe to eat whenever I wanted.”

“That’s not much to eat for a weekend.”

“No, it isn’t, and I really didn’t want to spend the weekend locked in a bathroom.”

“Did you try using your phone to call for help?”

“You know how bad I am about keeping that thing charged. It was dead.”

“So, what did you do?”

At that moment I heard a flush. One of the stall doors opened and a tall woman came out and headed to the sink to wash her hands. She smiled at me and nodded her head ever so slightly to indicate I could now use her stall. I went inside and closed the door as their conversation continued.

“Well, I definitely didn’t panic. I noticed there was a small window on an outside wall. I could see it was outside because even though the glass was sort of frosted, I could still make out trees in the distance.”

“Uh huh.”

“I pushed it and the bottom pane slide up.”

“That was lucky.”

“It was. I yelled some more, but it seemed no one heard me. The window opening wasn’t very big and it was at about chest height…anyway, I’m petite and I figured I could just squeeze through it. The only problem was getting up high enough to do that.  I looked around and found a trash can. I upended it and pushed it under the window. Doing that made me up high enough that I could go out of the window, although I’d have to go head first which I didn’t like.”

“Head first?! Where would you land. You might hurt yourself.”

“I looked out. There was a high shrub, a camelia I think, not anything prickly, but a nice soft looking one so I thought I would make a soft landing. The only problem was I was wearing a lovely new outfit—a soft cream-colored cashmere sweater and matching wool pants—and knew I’d ruin my clothing squeezing out the window.”

“What did you do?”

I heard another flush, the second stall door squeak open, and the sink being used again.

“The only thing I could do. I tossed my purse out the window and took off my sweater and pants and tossed them out too, and then I climbed up on the trash can and…”

That’s when the women left the bathroom. What happened next remains a mystery to me. How would you finish the story? There’s a free copy of “What Lucy Heard” in print or for your e-reader for the person who comes up with the best ending. It seems like an appropriate title as a reward since the book is all about hearing something curious, too.

Hello, Ladies ~

While I am sad about the loss of three family members over the last three months, I am also relieved that the past eighteen months are behind me. I’m finally back to weaving words together as I work on three novels at once.

I know it sounds daunting—and maybe even a little crazy—but being immersed in a story is my happy place.

The wonder I have for my creativity is endless. I mean, how is it possible to have a character in “Lost in Loreto” looking for a missing wife? A wife, he thought, had divorced him. And at the same time, I’m back in Stoneybrook following Wyatt and his deputies as the hunt for not one, but two killers in “Fatal Falls.” Then, just to keep things interesting, I’m sailing on a 1757 Schooner as it tries to outrun a Spanish Galleon with three youngsters who have been transported from the present back in time in my middle school fantasy novel, “Midnight Sail.”

I’ll admit that while I was dealing with what seemed like endless family issues, I felt that my creativity had abandoned me. It seemed every time I sat down to work on my novel at the time, “Chaos in Cabo,” that I couldn’t string together two sentences that read well. Still, I plodded along, working and reworking sentences, rearranging paragraphs, and adding more chapters.

I’m not going to lie, when my Beta readers reported back that they loved the book, I was thrilled. One even said she thought it was my best book yet. What?!? Now, armed with renewed confidence that my creativity works just fine even if I’m a little distracted, I’m excited again to have three projects to work on at once.

In “Lost in Loreto,” I’m back in Mexico. As luck would have it, I get to visit this city in March while on a Mexican cruise of the Sea of Cortés. I’m excited to stroll the same streets my characters walk. But mostly I like the idea of verifying some of the things I’ve learned about the city via Google searches. Even though I sometimes take creative license with locales, I try to stay as true to the places in my books as possible. Something else I’m excited about with this book is the character dynamics, which already offer huge potential for fun character arcs. Oh, and did I mention there might be a rattlesnake that doesn’t actually have a rattle at the end of its tail?

Of course, my favorite part of being back in Stoneybrook is that I get to write a story thread that honors my son, Derrick, the model for my autistic fictional deputy. I love all of the Stoneybrook characters, most of whom reflect the personalities of people in my life. But it’s also fun creating new characters, and in the case of “Fatal Falls,” the villain is taking an even darker turn than I had planned. One of the upsides of an evil villain is plotting how he will get his just desserts.  Another upside to writing about the town of Stoneybrook is that it’s similar to creating a fantasy or sci-fi world; I can bring my imagination to life in various ways.

Okay, so I’m guessing you’re all scratching your heads, asking how she can write a kids’ book when she’s so dark and twisty. I have had the idea for “Midnight Sail” since I still had kids at home. Then I was going to write the book for my grandkids, now fifteen and thirteen. But a good idea never truly leaves you, and one day I met a ten-year-old boy who brought my main character, Cyrus, to life. After our chance meeting, I couldn’t let go of his winning personality and curious mind. When I started working on the book, it seemed meant to be, because the other characters presented themselves with little effort. Once again, I found myself “sailing” Google, researching pirates and old vessels that once sailed the Oregon coast. As a native Oregonian, I was shocked at the many pirate stories I discovered. Turns out my buried treasure story idea from forty-plus years ago wasn’t such a stretch after all.

Obviously, I’m thrilled to be back in my writing groove. Whether it’s a brief note in the Halloween cards I send to my grandkids, great-nieces and great-nephews, or writing a blog I hope others will enjoy, all writing is good writing.

So, I must bid you adieu and get back to those three stories!!!

Happy Halloween, Ladies!