Is there a muse in the house?

I am having a bloody awful time writing today. The words just won’t come. Or is that the problem? Maybe, it’s the idea I’m stuck on. I am desperately trying to submit a few stories to the Black Library’s open submissions thingy yet I just can’t seem to come up with a good idea. I could damn well scream.

This morning I woke up with a fucking blinding idea. I thought to myself ‘This is the one! This is the one I am going to submit because it’s just so freaking awesome.’ I must have compiled maybe a page worth of notes in under five minutes. I’m not talking random ideas either. I’m talking a beginning, middle and end. I’m talking full plot outline baby. Everything was going to be alright, I could almost feel I was catapulting myself into a better life via my Trebuchet of awe-inspiring talent.


At some point after I had compiled my notes I went to take a shit. Nothing strange there. I took a book though. I mean I always take a book, but this one shattered my whole mornings work. Well, you know… that whole five minutes of notes. I have read just about everything I can get my hands on that has been printed by the Black Library. I was supremely confident I knew all of the major events in the 40K universe, all the major characters, plot lines, story arcs… the fucking lot. Yet, the book I sat down on my throne to read this morning was a collection of short stories only recently compiled by the Black Library. I started reading the first story and my world dropped out of my arse. Literally in fact.

That was my fucking story!

Well, apparently it was their fucking story. Imagine if I had sent the bloody thing off. I’m fairly sure I would have been done for plagiarism. They were that similar.


Oh well, there is always tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll be visited in my sleep by this elusive muse person/thing. We’ll have to see I guess.


Author: Mark S Thompson

Okay, so these things are kind of hit and miss. If you’re reading this then I am thankful to you for taking the time out of your day to do so. I’ll be honest, when I think of myself as a writer, I kinda cringe. Don’t get me wrong, it is the dream, it's​ just I never really believe it will go anywhere. When I think back to the day that I first knew I loved writing, and I mean really knew, I see myself sitting in an English lesson at secondary school. The school was called Wrotham and is in the county of Kent, England. As far as I know, it's still there. English was far and away my favourite subject. The best bit was when the teacher gave the class a selection of words and asked us to make up a story that either contained those words or was about those words, you know. At other times we would be given the first sentence and then write what happens next. Good times. Many times my work would reflect what I had recently read and it would be okay. Nothing special, just okay. On one occasion though I wrote about a merman called Finchy and can remember going into so much depth and detail about him and the underwater kingdom he lived in. I really enjoyed writing that and it must have shown because my teacher commented on it. She was really impressed and loved the story. That was it for me, my moment. Now when I write I think back to those great times and to that story. Hopefully, I’ll write something that you, the reader, will be moved to comment on. For me, there is no greater elixir

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