So, last night as I was sitting at the dining room table (eating and reading), I had a sort of vision: the creepy opening scene for a rather disturbing little story. So I fired up the laptop, and I wrote it down...
...And it's good.
This is horrible. I mean, I was just starting to make some progress on another writing project, and I have seven or eight more lined up behind that one. And Secondborn is sick with a cough, and Beautiful Wife is completely stressed out, so even if I do try to work on this one, real life is going to come crashing down on any semblance of writing time I might have, and by the time I get back to it I'll probably have lost all sense of the story.
Even worse, I like this story. I haven't been this interested in telling a particular story in years. Bits and pieces of it keep coming together in my head, even - or perhaps especially - when I'm trying to do other things. It's completely taking over my brain, filling all those ridges and folds with its slimy black tentacles, and I don't even have a working title for it. But it just keeps creeping in, and for the first time in I don't even know how long, I feel like I could write this. I feel like I could finish this.
I don't know exactly where it's going. I have no idea how long it'll be. But by all the dark and forgotten corners of the world, I'm going to have a lot of fun finding out.
Post a Comment
Feel free to leave comments; it lets me know that people are actually reading my blog. Interesting tangents and topic drift just add flavor. Linking to your own stuff is fine, as long as it's at least loosely relevant. Be civil, and have fun!