It has been so long since I have opened a Word document to write, I am almost afraid of the act. I can’t honestly explain it. There really isn’t too much of an explanation. There is a muscle that I allowed to atrophy but it is not beyond the realm of full recovery. I always have so many ideas flooding through my head. Short stories, poems, my book… Oh, my book. I miss my book.
I miss every character in it.
I miss hearing them speak to me and watching them grow into three dimensional extensions of everything I have learned, built, and become throughout my life.
And being that they are based on real people, their dimensions are even greater still.
The stories I am drawing from are some of the most amazing pieces of human history that we have ever encountered. And when I am working, I am living in them. I am feeling so much from these human beings who, except for their historical counterparts, really never did exist. I gave them life. I am Dr. Frankenstein with a cup of coffee, Marlboro reds and a Dell as the only tools I utilize.
It is a beautiful talent, though bittersweet, to transport yourself somewhere that can only ever again exist in your mind and become part of it long enough to lament 300 pages about its subject. I am truly blessed.
And with that, I need to put my guard against the new and frightening Microsoft Office down and begin something else. Blogs are cool, but there has to be more. I have so much more to say. I pity my own body when my brain begins to shut down. For my creative vigor is clearly what has always kept me going and when there is static settling in, that is when you will expect to say goodbye.
BUT that won’t be for a very long time. I am getting my artistic act back together. I am picking up my baggage strewn all over the floor and placing it neatly away so that my life can now continue. And my desire to create is like the innocence in the blood of a virgin. And I need drink it every day, as it is what makes me truly immortal.