I admit: I’m one of those dream-writers
It started when pregnancy played whack-a-mole with my hormones. As children grew in my belly, my mind dragged me into dark recesses only to drop me on clouds of ocean’s water. I’d roll off to find myself in a desert, no, a house, no, a casino, with living walls and games run by hands as ready to pull you under as roll the dice.
I nursed these dreams with my children, watched them stumble about until they could hold up their own heads. I smiled as they learned to speak for themselves, cried when they grew sick and pained. They have fought me over wants vs. needs. They have learned some tough lessons. I have, too. From this struggle of real and fictional parenthood I have built a series of stories eager to enter the world; my first, Fallen Princeborn: Stolen, is to be released in early 2019.
But not all stories are like that. Yes, some may grow in as a babe in the belly, but then there are those that fall from the sky of the mind and land upon us, knocking the wind out of us, rolling off of us and running, leaving us to ask: what the hell was that? Do I give chase, or walk away?
Me? I give chase.