I’m kicking myself this morning because last night I made the rookiest of rookie mistakes.
In the novel I’m working on now, I’ve been struggling to identify my villain’s objects of desire. What does he want, and why? What does he need, and why? Last night the answers came to me in a flash. Rather than getting out of bed and writing it down, I convinced myself that I’d remember it. It seemed so obvious once I knew it.
But I don’t remember it. I have no clue what the idea was. I only know that it was brilliant.
Last night, Resistance won. This morning, The Muse is making me suffer the consequences of my decision. In a few days or weeks, she might throw me a bone and tell me the idea again. More likely as not, I’m on my own.
If we’re not willing to do the work, we don’t deserve the reward. It’s that simple.
