Things are greening up outside, and daylight is lasting longer in my neck of the woods. Each week brings new offerings in the “What was previously planted in my flowerbed?” adventure. The results have been mixed between beautiful and “That needs weeding. I think. Maybe?”
Indoors, the cast of fictional characters I’m currently working with keeps trying to run amok. Some writing sessions go smoothly, but others are more like trying to herd squirrels at a rave—and I’m not there to party hard. Add in a dose of existential angst, theirs and mine, and you have more fodder than you need to power some gritty realism on the page.
Hey, the adage is write what you know. Or experience. Or observe. All are equally valid.
All I’ll say is thanks gods I don’t write horror. Nothing against the genre or those who read or write it. I just don’t need any more nightmares in my head, thank you very much. I’m already dealing with writing a kidnapping and its aftermath in addition to my real-life stress. That’s plenty.
Not much else to report from my cozy writing space this time around. I’ll leave you with a picture of my gorgeous St. Joseph’s Lily to brighten your day. Or night, depending on where and when you are in the world.
