Outside it is a balmy 60 degrees. The hills around the place received snow last night. I can see it miles away from my window. When I took the dog out for a walk, we ran all the way because we wanted to get back to the relative warmth of the inside. Foxy, my little chihuahua terrier mix, is now wrapped in a blanket.
I am looking at a blank screen and trying to decide what to do with Hilda and Davi in the next book of their adventures. Plus I am not sure if I need to bring Lord Barton in so soon with the story. His representative, although it is not clear at this time, is the Draugr. I am not sure in this world if a Draugr can be killed. Maybe only be put to sleep for a long time. Davi will have to discover this himself.
When I write, the characters become real in my head. I have talked to other writers who say the same. At least they don’t crowd my mind when I am relaxing. Or maybe I am rejoicing too soon. There are times when they wake me from sleep or just at twilight when my body starts to relax, I hear and sometimes see what will happen next.
Does that make me a nutcase? I don’t think so because I can use my five senses in this world. I can touch the table and lean my arms against it. I know when I am here. I do dream though. When I dream it is like I don’t know I am dreaming. And sometimes the dreams leak into my day to day life. Why just yesterday I was trying to remember a fact and only realized later that some character in my dream had told me. That it was a true fact when I looked it up, still didn’t stop the chills. I knew before I was supposed to know.
So I write of this and other things. Of what is real and semi-real.
My motivation for writing is story. I want to write a story that will help someone escape. I want that reader to feel better after they finished my book. And in rare cases I want them to laugh. I want my writings to give the same enjoyment that I get when I read my favorite authors.
So here is the rub. I am a reader first and a writer second.