I’ve been working on For Ever, the newest book in my lineup. I haven’t come up with a series name. I’m working on it. Mostly. I seem to be having an issue coming up with the words describing how I currently feel. Now, one may think this is a non-issue. Like, why does it matter how she feels? Just write the damn book, lady!
Well, it matters because I tend to write based on my feelings. My experiences. The relationship between the two. Lately, there has been an angry black cloud of death around me. It seems to circle me, drowning me, dragging my spirit down (no pun intended). In my line of work, tragedy isn’t unheard of. It’s the devil in the detail, really. The dying have started to stack up, their names, their faces, haunting me. For Ever is a story I started writing based on my experiences with death. Dying. The dead.
I grew up seeing things others couldn’t. Even now as an adult, I still see the shadows move, the flashes of light, feel the air change when they’re nearby. I wanted to write a story that sort of showcased that. I wanted the reader, the audience, to feel what I feel, to experience what I experience. I cannot provide the terror, the increased heart rate, the sweat, or the tears I’ve experienced. I want to. The words are stuck. I see them in my head, but there seems to be a disconnect between my brain and my hands. I can’t help but wonder if it’s my heart that blocks the path.
In the past month, I’ve lost both family and friends to the inevitable outcome of life. It doesn’t matter if they’re people I know. That’s not the point. The point is, it’s out there. It’s lurking behind a smile, an innocent drive to the store, a visit to a doctor, a night of peaceful sleep.
I’m talking about death. In moderation, I can handle it. Lately, ugh. Too much, too fast! To hold the hand of the dying, to promise them happiness despite pain and anguish, is a difficult task. To look into their eyes and know–know–I can’t help them despite the agonizing pull in my chest to make everything “OK” can completely wreck a good day. On a bad day, it’s the tragedy that makes me curl into a ball and wish I had a choice in being born. Maybe I did. I don’t know since I can’t remember anything before the age of five. The idea that we are all faced with an end is unsettling. I’m trying to channel that fear, that sadness, into For Ever. I’m failing miserably. I can’t get the faces out of my head. I can’t get the sounds of their voices out of my head. I can’t get the laughter, the cries, the whispers, the pleading out of my head. And trust me. When they’re able to plead for more time, they do. They always do.
Because in reality, no one wants to die. We will claw our way out of unconsciousness if it means one more sweet minute of an agonizing life–one that is riddled with disease, with depression, with despair–one where we can rake in just one more shaky, painful breath.
And it’s heartbreaking.
And it’s the knot in my head, the one that stops the flow of thoughts. I’ve been able to write a few scenes in For Ever that are based on my own experiences with the dead, with death and dying, and with the fear and despair that come with it. However, I don’t feel like I’m doing it justice.
For that reason, I’m putting For Ever away for a few days. I’m going to be concentrating on working on Oddworld, a series about a dragon-shifter prince. It’s not coming to me as easily either, but it’s working a lot better than For Ever.
I hate trying to write during writer’s block. It’s the worst. The desire is there, but the words are stuck on some weird neuron-synapse-backwater road in my head.
My seven-year-old son said something interesting to me the other day. He said, “Mom, what if being alive is just a dream and when you die, you’re actually waking up? And that’s where you’re really living.” He’s insightful for someone so young. He has a point though. Maybe he’s right. We won’t ever know until the moment of darkness, of silence, of goodbye, comes.
Maybe then we wake up and really live.
Until then, I’ll be over here fighting a battle with my brain as I try to bleed thoughts into MS Word.
Want to read what I’ve released? Check out Emissary of the Devil, the story of a demon working his way through the ranks of Hell until he meets a part-angel that’s heaven-bent on saving his tarnished soul. It’s available on Amazon right now.
Check out The Chronicles of Winterset: Oracle, the story of a seventeen-year-old girl who is suddenly able to create and handle fire with her bare hands. She thinks she’s going crazy until she meets Calix Night, a guy who just might have all the answers. Oracle is available on Amazon now!