Okay, so the tale of the epic road trip will be continued at a later date.
Why, you ask?
Because there’s only one freaking story I’m interested in telling, and that’s the one I’ve been writing for months. This thing has pulled me in so deep that it’s practically all I can think about. I’m still fulfilling my normal obligations, even having a social life, but no matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’m thinking about this freaking story.
I wrote until 3:30 a.m. this morning, and even then, I didn’t want to stop.
I don’t know that I’ve ever been so wrapped up in telling a story, in finishing it, in seeing the end. Maybe it’s because I don’t actually know how this one’s going to end…yeah, probably. Most of the time, I at least know where I want my characters to end up, even if I don’t quite know how to get there. This time I have no clue. It keeps shifting as I write, their fates as changeable as the wind.
Okay, enough with the freaking poetics.
It’s almost like reading a book that pulls me in so deep I can’t see outside of it, and I reallyreallyreally can’t wait to see how it ends. Except, of course, I’M WRITING IT. So I have to work much harder than if I were simply reading a book.
It’s almost become an obsession. I say almost because, as I mentioned above, I’m still doing other things. I’m just kinda sorry I have to do them. For instance, tomorrow I’m heading north to my hometown, and I will go to the ol’ county fair. I’m excited to hang out with a friend up there, and for us to go around being snarky at everything, as has been our wont since we were little.
But I keep thinking, “I won’t have a chance to write. I’ll have to stop for like, a whole day!”
Even though I know that, at this point, that’s probably best. A long drive, some time away to think, to let everything simmer in my subconscious. When I come back, I’ll sit down at the keyboard, and it’ll just flow out with no urging from me.
Still, I can’t help but feel like a petulant child. It’s very hard to resist the urge to stamp my foot, cross my arms, and whine, “But I want to wriiiiiite!”
I’m a grown-up, though. So I won’t.*
Okay. Off to write now.
*Except for real quiet-like. *Stamp* *Cross arms* But I want to wriiiiiite!