So as I was driving home from work the other day I felt the sudden desire to turn off the radio. The main thought in my head was this: ?Think.? I sat there, driving, my eyes on the road and my mind traipsing around different ideas and thoughts and suddenly, violently even, the world (book rather) I?ve been working on since I was in junior high opened up and spiraled down to where I last left my friends (characters). It?s been about 3 years since I?ve actively touched the world?and I remember in vivid detail exactly what they?re doing.
A day later I typed the first sentence that was in my thoughts. The following evening I wrote about eight pages. My wife was looking at me while I was laying in bed and asked me if I was going to sleep because my eyes were closed and my fingers had momentarily stopped typing. I shook my head and typed out another seven pages. Just last night I typed another fourteen.
It?s funny with the arts, how they can grip you when you least expect it and then just as quickly let you go. I?m not ascribing any sort of deity to the arts, I know that God?the great Creator is the one who has given arts to men and doesn?t frown upon it save when men take the beauty of it and pervert it, I know that. It just strikes me how powerful the feeling is when the artist is gripped with the need to draw (now!) or write (this very moment!).
It?s fiction, I know and some folk look down at this type of writing shrugging it off as a waste of time. Even more a waste since I doubt this work will ever get published.
I guess it?s been said often enough. I don?t write for anyone?s pleasure but my own.