I finished a thing. Well, not really. I finished one draft of a thing. A book. A novel. A world made purely from thoughts and old bits of string. A collection of digital information laid out inside my computer in not quite the same order from whence it poured out of my head and came out through my fingers. A marvel. A thing that existed not in this world, that now does.
One of the things that I think compels me to write, just as the power of Christ compelled Regan to stop doing the head-spinny thing, is the sheer weirdness of it. As wiser heads have stated, the fact that I can make up people in my head and write stories about them down, and then anyone can read those words and make that same person up in their own head, is properly magical. I can tell a joke on paper, then years later someone can read it and laugh. I can make a figment of my imagination feel sad, or hurt, and then make you feel sad or hurt on their behalf, even though they never existed outside of my head, and then yours.
At the moment the thing of which I have finished (kind of) is about to go to a few people to take a look at. It’s about the scariest thing in the world, apart from those moments when you see children toppling over in some kind of peril and for a split second literally anything terrible could befall them. But it’s about at that level.
Because that whole thing where it’s magical, and wonderful? That only works if the people who read it find those people coming to life in their own heads. If they find themselves drawn in enough to laugh, or hurt, or feel sad. And there’s no faking that. You do, or you don’t. If they don’t, then I’ve just wasted a few years of my life. I’ve worked and reworked this novel so much that I honestly can’t tell any more. I think it’s good. I hope it’s good. It might be not good.
So I’m like a child right now, teetering backwards over a precipice where there could be literally anything below me. Dragons or pillows. Spiders or pudding. Bad monkeys or catching monkeys.
I guess I’ll find out, soon enough.
Blood on the Motorway: An apocalyptic trilogy of murder and stale sandwiches is out now in ebook and print from Amazon and all other good bookstores. You can get the first book free by joining my mailing list or read along at Wattpad. Oh, and I’ve got a Patreon.
I love your writing style! And the intangible delights of writers connecting with readers is absolutely right-on! As in your description of the fear/joy/fear pendulum. 🙂 Good luck to you!
Thank you, Lila!