Bad diarist! No biscuit!
Back during The Event, I once again started a journal. I’ve kept a journal, off and on, for most of my life (though it’s definitely been more off than on). Like many diarists, I pick up my journal in times of strife and pain, writing each day (or more often) to rant, moan, analyze, introspect, and claw my way back toward something that resembles sanity. As the drama subsides, however, my journalistic fervor wanes in response; I am simply not compelled to catalogue the minutiae of my days.
And that is the point at which I begin to feel a sense of failure. (more…)
I’d heard of them long before I saw one in the wild. Rare, elusive, they were things of power and legend. Sure, I saw them in movies, but I knew those were fakes; we all did.
Two weeks ago, I tried an experiment.
Going back over early notes for this novel, I realized that this project has been rattling around in my head for over a decade.
Just because I wasn’t writing, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t writing.
