The Writing Muse--And Other Contributors--Call To Me

Recently, I received a note from another writer, saying, “I can't muster any enthusiasm for my project. I just want to quit. What do I do if I'm just too tired to write anymore?”
My thoughts? Just quit.
While there is something to be said for having a regular schedule, for writing something--anything--everyday, there is also a point of manuscript overload. When you just can't get excited about your project anymore. When you dread having to drag yourself over to the computer desk. When you'd rather have a mammogram. I believe that's that's the time to back off for a couple days and do something you enjoy. Reading, hiking, playing Scrabble, camping. The writing muse—and others-- will come tapping on your shoulder. I've had it happen many times.
In fact, just this morning, after a few days of camping, I woke up at 4am with plot ideas in my head. Okay, maybe I also woke up at 4am, because I'd left a bunch of lights on in the house for my eldest daughter when she came home from the opening of the Batman movie. And the lights were still on.
I got up to see if she was home. She wasn't. I called her. Surely the movie hadn't gone on for THAT long. When she didn't answer, I texted her. Oh, why had I let her join her friends in such frivolous nonsense? What is wrong with seeing Batman for its second or third showing in the light of day?
As I was fretting over what to do—who did you call at 4am to see if they'd seen your daughter--she called me. She and her friends had stopped for something to eat after the movie. She promised she'd be home soon. That she'd wake me up. So I went back to bed. Only now I worried that perhaps it was TOO late for her to attempt driving home. So I went back downstairs and called her.
“Do you want me to come get you?” I asked. “Are you too tired?”
She said she was fine. That if she got too tired she would pull over and call. I said okay. But I didn't head back for my bed. I knew I couldn't go back to sleep—even if I wanted to. I sat down at the computer and wrote in my journal, checked my e-mail. There were those plot ideas I should probably tackle, but I was concentrating too hard on listening for the sound of a car engine coming up the road. Moments later, my daughter pulled in. The movie had been great. She was tired. Goodnight.
I debated returning to the computer—doing some work on my story. But I thought bed sounded like a fine idea. I would get to the rest of my ideas later. I closed my computer and went upstairs to sleep.
I had just pulled the covers up around my shoulders when I heard a baby's cry outside my window. I listened again. “Meow.” Our cat. I went down and let him in, gave him some food. Then I went back up to bed. Again, I had just settled in when I heard a whining noise. Our dog, wanting to go out. So I went back downstairs and let him out. I returned to my bed. Finally. I put my head to the pillow. Then from outside the window, I heard barking. Our dog. Probably barking at wild boar which like to grovel in our yard—but still barking loud enough that the neighbors would not appreciate this.
I smiled. While maybe I wanted to sleep—to continue this vacation from writing—my writing muse, and various other contributors, had other things in mind.