And so it comes to this. The third law. The answer to the second biggest question in the Universe: "Where do you get your ideas?" The first biggest question being "What is the plural of platypus?" (*)

This unfathomable third law was something that I knew, one day, would become so clear and perceptible, that - like String Theory - it would flash across the face of all mankind and suddenly everyone would understand. There would be no more wars, or hunger, or line dancing. There would be no more racism, kitten juggling, or platypode (*). There would be only poetry in motion with the constant click-click-tap-tapping of keyboards across America. (And whatever other countries there are in the world).

And, thanks to Google, it didn't take me long to find this seemingly unanswerable question. So, ready for it or not, bitches, it's time to throw off the gloves, and get serious about this!f
sd fonkkf e)PF

...

Although the above look like cleverly placed random letters, I assure you it's the actual result of me throwing my keyboard (along with everything else) off my desk as I gesticulated the universal "Let's get down to biz-ness!" arm pumping motion. Even though you couldn't see the immense passion taking hold of me, flushing my face, bristling the hairs of my neck, and stretching taut the skin over my rippling, bulging muscles, it happened. That was MY keyboard on the floor there. Along with a paperweight, an old glass, half a ham sandwich, a stupid executive desk toy, and a picture of your wife (oh snap!).

The First Evidence: Keep On Keepin' On
In 1922, blues man turned psychiatrist, turned astro-physicists (and later, astro-physiciatrist) Bop "Bags" Beedleschnitzle made a fateful trek through a cold winter's night to meet a man about a song. They met down one of the few backwoods country roads outside Rosedale, Mississippi. At a fork in the road. According to his own statements, Bags looked at the well-dressed man with the horns and cloven hooves and asked him "Where DID you get that suit, Brother?" This banter continued on a few minutes, with Bags insisting that he could never find something cut just right in a 42 long, and the mysterious stranger insisting that it just came from a "normal shop, like you would find on Earth." Finally, a secret deal was made for the song that launched Bags into stardom (and later, into space!). Keep On Keepin' On is the earliest evidence of The Third Law in full motion. It's colorful, unique, and catchy lyrics are quick evidence of the captured muse. In fact, you can almost hear her faint cries for help.

Keep On Keepin' On
by Bop "Bags" Beedleschnitzle
copyright 1923

I went down to the fork, yeah.
To keep on, keepin' on.
I went down to the fork in the road, yeah yeah.
To keep on, keepin' on.
I ran outta music and talkin' 'bout stuff then,
but I didn't run without my feet on.
Run. Shoes. Feet things and I sold those soles.
Yeah. Shoelacin' tongue-pullin' old sandle-like-shoe. Thing.
I almost done got you on.

Again, you can't see the expressions on my face as I deliver these scholarly sounding lines, but I have furrowed my brow and pushed my 1.25 reading glasses up to the bridge of my nose. Now, what do those lines above tell us? Anyone? Sigh. Fine! It always seems like I have to just *give* you the answer, you never speak up or even attempt to help out.

We obviously know that Bags went to the fork and was keepin' on. But read past that and open your mind. Your "writer's mind". (A term I truly prefer, because it means absolutely nothing). What do you see? If you saw a fork, or any cutlery, you are wrong. Please stop reading and leave the room.

If you instead focused on "Run. Shoes. Feet things... old sandle-like-shoe. thing." then you have uncovered the lightly hidden evidence of the Third Law at work. Few things are as important to true creativity as this.

Let me give you another example.

The Second Evidence: Nights of Noir
1944. A little-known author of pulp novels named Michael M. Mikerson couldn't get past the routine standards of the noir style. Everything seemed the same, used up, old hat, cliche'd (like this post). Every sentence he wrote led to two sentences worth of writer's block. He couldn't make progress, and when he did, he couldn't find the spark of creativity. Rumor has it, one night he made a trip through the streets of LA (Louisiana, not Los Angeles) one winter's night. Somewhere on that journey, he found his muse. Or rather, he realized The Third Law. He came back, eyes sheened over with liquor probably, but still! There was a spark there. He wrote through the night and when Nights of Noir was published, it was the largest selling pulp novel, and to this day is regarded as "the highest quality literature and effective muse-capturing device of the entire genre".

With my far-reaching knowledge of this device, and stunning good looks, I have discovered the following passage that illustrates the usage of The Third Law. See if you can find it yourself:

Nights of Noir
by Michael M. Mikerson
copyright 1944

Mackie drew his gun. He had heard the rumors. The gossip. The times she had laughed at him, as he cried for her loss. And here she was, still alive - standing before him. The streetlamp's shadow separated them. Silence fell like raindrops, shattering on the asphalt in a million possibilities. She had to die.

I'm a plump little mango. Reaching at peaches and waving at puppies as they zip across the yard.

Sally awoke suddenly! With a loud croaking morning gulp, she checked herself for bullet holes. She was still alive. Mackie hadn't found her, and she knew now what she had to do. Mackie had to die.

This one may seem difficult, in the context of a story. But pay attention and you should be able to find it. Any luck? No, it has nothing to do with the fact that Mackie has four fingers, or the symbolism of death versus dreams and silence represented by raindrops - that's just drugs talking. Take a look at the second paragraph. Now do you see it?

That's right! "I'm a plump little mango." It doesn't make much sense does it? Well, it's easy to overlook because most of those novels were written like that. More people wouldn't question writing like this assuming that they just didn't get it, and there was a deeper meaning underneath (Which, by the way, Michael M. Mikerson claims that there was until his dying day). But those of us in the know... We know different.

I know it's taken a bit to get to the point, and you've read these ongoing rambling posts and wasted minutes of your time over the past week. But rest assured, it's all worthwhile. Your friend, Hunter Cole, claims it, and so it is so!

The Third Law is the tricky little succubus. She'll give you what you want, but she wants to go all night. You go. She goes. You stop. She stops. Do you see where this is going? Like a highly intellectual game of "Red Light", except there's no escape if you don't want to play anymore.

The Third Law is what kills most GOOD writers that are aspiring to greatness, and most GREAT writers that should be world famous. Editor versus writer versus creativity spark of the muse versus Godzilla. The Third Law is to focus on the only thing you need to succeed at the time: Creativity.

The Third Law is to not stop writing. Never stop writing. Just keep on keepin' on. I could go on for hours repeating this concept, and in some cases, I think it helps. But the biggest killer of creativity, the biggest binding of the muse, is the analytical side taking over and saying "Oh, I don't think that's how you spell Paraquat." Or "Maybe her name should be Sandy." Or "I wonder what it would have been like if there was a lesbian vampire in The Waltons?"

GREAT AUTHORS are great because they never stopped writing. They ran into those writer's block walls, they didn't know what they were going to name their protagonist, and they considered adding lesbian vampires to every television series (or maybe that was just yours truly). Great authors may not have been great writers. But a lot of great writers focus on the writing part, and forget to ever become great. They get caught up on the details. They get to editing themselves, revising their stories in progress, evolving them to the point they're no longer human. And that's the end of the line.

So the best advise I can give, at the end of my week's worth of thousands of words post (and I can hear the feedback now - Hunter said to never stop writing, and he sure didn't hardy har har) is to just write. That's it. Just write. Don't edit, don't over think it, don't try to be brilliant. When you hit a wall, write. Even if it's not about the same thing. Even if it's not for the same story. Just keep writing. You can edit it later. And with that, you'll not only get the best of your Muse, you may just find that you're a much better storyteller when you don't let the author get in the way.

Now. Shut up and go write!

Sincerely,
-Hunter