The days and nights have not been kind to me. I have been fighting with my writing and with the thoughts in my head, much the way Schizophrenic fights with their demons. But, that is only a guess since I am not a schizophrenic. My stories and the voices they have are all gathered around me. They are fighting for my attention. Only one of them can have it at a time.
The indecision of my writing has been something I have struggled with for a long time. With the help of my cousin, who has already been published, I have found what I needed and shut out one story and have begun to finish the third draft of another. For those that want to know which one I chose, that answer lies in it being a third draft. I cannot go anywhere without my characters they are with me, in my head, in every breath. The one thing I breath when I wake up or before I go to sleep is the story.
The one story that keeps coming back to me. Their haunting eyes, the crimson lips, the white smile. These are the things I see before my eyes shut and send me to dreamland. When I chose this path again, I took it for myself, to push myself and see what I can do. The rough draft is not the same as what I have written on the page now. There are elements that are still there. They lie subdued, lying underneath, hiding in the shadows of their former selves.
Taking up the cause of this story has made me change my thinking about what type of writer I am, and what I choose to write. Once this draft is complete I will let those who read my blog know. The night and my trip to Winslow, AZ in the past week has changed me as a writer. I have learned things about myself as a writer and as father. What is important and what is not. I write for myself and for my children, some day I know they will take on the world and change it, my son has already shown me the way. Without watching his imagination on a daily basis I am not sure I would be writing at all. He is the driving force in keeping my imagination flowing.
Until the dawn,