Done with my chores for the day, I switch off the kitchen lights, peek in on the kids to make sure they are fast asleep and tucked in and make my way to the study where my laptop beckons. The characters in my head are jostling for attention.
Their words, their emotions, their body language all tumble and roll around as a heady mass of words in my head. Do I write about what they feel or what they actually speak. Do I voice their unexpressed feelings or leave the onus on the reader to decipher their demons? These are living breathing souls in my head.
It is a high, giving voice and form to the silent voices in my head. Chapter after chapter tumbles onto paper, the narrative takes shape and the story meanders. I write something, I realize it cannot be. I backtrack and tweak the flow. So, I know how it will end, but how do I make it come to be?
The questions ask themselves at random times. Like when I am mid conversation with a friend or when I read something online. The answers arrive even more unexpectedly as I savor a piece of fried cauliflower.
And so it goes. What fun it is to write!
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