My book has become something I didn't intend. In a good way, but it is surprising me. I just stared with what I though was a wacky concept. Even at then, I thought it was about humor. But I guess I have been thinking a lot about loss lately, and how loss changes you. How the ripples of loss extend outward, affecting everything and leaveing you weak in its wake.
The book isn't about rebuilding. Its about rediscoverey when the floor drops out.
Tonight I wrote my Mayhem chapter. Now it is 5 a.m. and I am out the other side. I was able to talk to Death during those moments, to ask for help with something I didn't want to do, something I still dream about, and listened as Death told me only I could do it. I could look Death in the face and see his blank expression.
I haven't cried in a month. I thought it was all out, but I knew that this chapter might bring it back, and it did. Having relived it, even if only through my main character, I now get to be angry. There next four chapters should be short and are about looking for answers, demanding answers.
But for tonight I am wiped. I am drained.
Peace, Mayhem. Peace.
Russia's The Dead Hand
15 years ago
