Breather

Malcolm and I are taking a breather this weekend (in case anyone notices the pause.)

Writing James Walsh's story, with Nate, Wardell, and Alison attending, not only exhilarated me, it pushed me to a new limit. No exaggeration—in all the years I’ve been writing fiction (25, and so consistently it’s staggering to contemplate), I have never experienced a story taking over my daily life and consciousness the way this one did.

Many nights I could not sleep after writing all day, and when I did, my dreams arrived as relentless, hyper-realistic outtakes. The characters would not fade. For six weeks, they never shut up. The whole endeavor was overwhelming. Sadly, I know too well that does not mean it will ever captivate anyone else.

Knowing this did not protect me from believing, while it was happening to me, that some of the story would surely captivate anyone who read it. Its energy was too great to go unnoticed. When that fantasy ends, the crash involves real psychic injury. So this weekend I am licking my wounds.

Creative writing is a habit though. I’ve admitted before I’m addicted to the adrenaline. Monday or maybe Tuesday, I’ll be back at it. My plan is to write little vignettes for a while. But you never know. The James Walsh bender started out as an imaginary snippet of dialogue matched with a vague image.