Author, Fantasy, Science Fiction, AD&D

The Conduit

Winter is coming. George R.R. Martin gave this phrase a life of its own. I’m using it as it has always been used. The mountians above us have been buried in white over the weekend, and is only a matter of time now before it drifts into the valleys. I’ve been trying to catch up on all things I should’ve done over the summer. I’ve done fairly well, I’ve gone through three full lists, and I’m on my fourth. Most of it is remodels to the interior of the house and some yardwork on the side. I’ve only gotten about a third of the fence watersealed, and I still need to touch up areas of the backyard decks.

But that is not what is really on my mind right now. With winter on its way in and all my projects coming to a close whether I like it or not, the new project list contains the seven separate books that I’m working on. The reason my current project’s list brings this up is because I find very often that I spend a great deal of time thinking about what I could be writing in my books. I think about characters. I think about their personalities, I even think about their backgrounds, but what I find myself doing the most is listening to dialogue between them. Unfortunately by the time I get done with what I’m working on, there’s no way for me to remember all of it or even get it written down.

I do this at other times as well, like when I’m running. It seems like when I’m off doing something else, the keyboard is not in front of me and my recorder is not near, I feel much like an artist staring at a blank canvas. As I think about what to say or what to think or what to explain or describe, it all becomes very clear. Sometimes it’s a lot like watching a movie. I can see the characters, and I watch what they’re doing and listen to their conversations. I can even feel what they feel, but the moment I turn about to pick up the brush, it disappears like a clear dream upon waking. Perhaps it’s true what they say: the best picture is the one never drawn, and the best book is the one never written, or perhaps it’s simpler than that. Maybe when we are not trying, our mind is more open to what we’re being sent.

 

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