It being Halloween, it's time to think about costumes. The Writer's Costume, that is: the facade that the writer presents to the world, intentionally or unintentionally.
There are two layers to the costume, backwards alliterated: the Muse and the Excuse.
The Muse is where the writer says he gets his ideas. Broad experience, mental illness, embodiments of creative virtues that aren't succubi at all, no way. These Muses are approximately as creative as the writer himself, but of course they're not true. They're there to make up for the fact that Inspiration is just a sudden shift in neurons as other neurons smash new data through the mental filter of creativity to filter into the subconsciousness and assault the heavily defended walls of the conscious mind.
The Excuse, then, is what the writer says he uses to break through his own walls and let the ideas through. Active drinking, general debauch, random wandering, lack of willpower, boredom. As usual, none of it is true. All the writer does is leave the gate open and let the barbarian ideas boil through. It is precisely as easy as flipping a light switch. Except you can never close the gate again, and that's what all those Excuses are really meant to do.
So, this Halloween, dress up as your Muse and partake of your Excuse. Then get back to writing.
Lalala, fun is fun! We're having a dancing good time, we're muse ladies and we're hardly scantily clad at all!
Yet? (This is what happens when my Excuse dresses up as my Muse)
250 words? Yes
Short Story "Cosmast Rhyt"
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