|Inspiration hits for another romance!|
It was interesting talking to so many of his cousins, many of whom I don't know. Some I've developed friendships with, though I don't know their siblings much. At one point, when people were getting up to say a few words about the deceased, her significant other got up to speak. His voice was strong at first, then broke as he continued. Seems he's a plumber, and got sent to her house when she had some clogged pipes (ahem). They hit it off, one thing led to another, and he moved into her house not too long after that.
I teared up as he finished, as did many of us. One of her brothers, a cowboy-hat-wearing guy with pointy boots and a gray pony tail, leaned over to me and said in a loud whisper, "So now you know, that's what you should write about next! This was a real love story! It needs to be told and shared."
I was shocked, to say the least. We had spoken briefly before that, and it turns out that his cousins who knew me, had shared with him that I write romance novels. He was a bit patronizing, in the, "Oh? You little women still like reading that kind of crap? I suppose someone has to write it. Buy you have an English degree also? Can't you think of anything better to write about, other than porn for bored housewives?"
There are so many things wrong with that attitude that I was speechless. Then I tried to avoid him, so I wouldn't get goaded by him into engaging in what would surely turn ugly...and after all, it wasn't MY family, and it WAS a memorial.
But really? Only women (of any size, really, not just those he would diminish by calling "little") read "that sort of crap?" I've been contacted by men who have read and enjoyed my books...and my husband and one son both told me they did also. And what's with the demeaning attitude, that, what, only stupid women write romance, so an obviously well-educated woman like me should write something more, what, uplifting? I think at one point I did manage to mention briefly that I'm also a Mensa member. Genius IQ, top 2% world-wide. Not that I was bragging (much), but guys like him make me want to punch them!
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the time trying to avoid him. Husband helped, since he sensed an imminent explosion. He's a wise man.
But afterwards I got to thinking about a couple of things I should have said to him. Like, "If you think your sister's love story is such a great narrative, why don't you write it? Should be easy for a big guy like you. After all, women write romances all the time, so how hard can it be?" And the other thing was what I really said briefly to him before I excused myself to visit the powder room: "That's not how things work with writers...at least not with me. My muse doesn't write 'on-demand.' She gets inspired by things I'm not even aware of, then give me stories, sometimes in dreams, sometimes when I'm not looking for them, like when I'm driving. It's like lightning striking...you never know when it's going to hit. But it's never because I planned on writing any particular story. You can't force inspiration."
How about you? Can you make demands on your muse? Does she or he "produce" for you when you want her/him to do so? Am I the only one whose muse is capricious?
To read more about my books, visit my website: http://www.fionamcgier.com.
My plan is to update it soon...when I get some time off. Hey, spring break is coming up soon, right?