I hear voices. Audible crumbs that line the zigzagged paths in my head. Loud whispers fold into hushed thoughts, a disconnect bridged by a familiar tone. It builds into a phrase, like a breeze into wind, almost recognizable in a hiccup to my step. A cause to pause and say, Wait, what was that?
The hum isn’t really a collection of conversations. It comes from a strange mix of characters that seldom lock eyes. They wait for that, as if to say, No, not now. Not yet. We’re not ready.
These characters are related, all of them, bonded by a love and hate that gives them all something to fight for, even if their stakes are hopelessly at odds. Motive and motivation converge with a mantra that builds as I sleep. Repeated at increased intervals, culminating into the rhythmic beat of a double bass drum.
What if? What if? What if?
Rest assured, I’m not reaching out for help. I’m not going crazy (or crazier, depending on how you look at it). I’m writing. Every day. 1,667 words, at a minimum but often more. The voices in my head are my own damn fault, I’ve made these characters up. I’ve dreamt up their world, and I’ve forced them to find their home. I put the pulse in their whispers and now they depend on me to speak. Yes, this is why I write (believe it or not, it’s not for the fame and fortune).
Categories: Creative Writing