Writing

Writing a book is a very strange thing. First of course there is the body of the story--what event initially kindled the tale in your mind? When you picture the opening scene can you smell rain, ocean, hot sunlight? Then you realize it is rain you smell and you are seeing the white puff of your own breath through someone else's eyes. You feel cold, a trickle of rain running down the crevice behind your ear sending wet shivers in its wake. Your heart throbs with hopelessness and you feel only terror. Noises in the darkness, haunting pain in your heart--yet also a reason to live, someone to live for. A face in your mind, dark hair, flashing amber eyes...then there is the glowing sword in your hand coated with demon blood, piles of bodies at your feet. You smell them, sweat and rot. The plot forms. You are fully your character and suddenly you know what you are fighting for--know where you are going--the soul who needs rescue and the villain who earned your vengeance. It is different for everyone, yet no matter how it happens for a writer I find the process magical. For someone like me, the ability to be able to retreat into a world of fantasy at will is amazing and probably a necessary ingredient to functioning for the most part like a regular human being, not one of my characters. At the moment I am trying to decipher the laws of the land I currently creating--a justice system to a people who do not understand the definition of the word. It is challenging. Being in contact with so many incredible artists lately I have often found just wanting to draw it. Then I look at pieces like this and remember why I chose writing over art--firstly because I am better at it, but also because I love the passion of words, they way they can create a scene so vivid and alive. Alive because in the mind of the reader it is always seen differently.