There's a story somewhere inside my head that I'm trying to put to paper. It's fiction, to be clear, and I still don't know all the details, but the core of it—the inspiration—seems very much alive.
A few days ago I began writing it down, looking up references, and using modern tools to double-check my work and my words.
It's funny, because it's almost as if you fall in love with the stories you tell. A character in your mind can become a vestige of something you are, or perhaps something you wish you could be. The emotional investment becomes real, and the outcome of the process slowly fades from focus. The process itself becomes enough.
Like all good stories, I'm trying to ground it in the possible. I may love stories about heroes and their convenient luck, but I hardly find them applicable outside the pages of a comic book. A good story needs defeat. It needs moral ambiguity. It needs flaws. More importantly, it needs to feel like it's mine.
Curiously enough, this story has been evolving because I've been entertaining the idea of making a video game. It's something I dreamed about as a kid but never had the skills to create. Today, though, it feels less like a fantasy and more like a possibility. A distant one, perhaps, but well within my grasp if I'm willing to put in the time.
That said, I think that even if the game never comes to be, the story has to.
It's just too good.
Too precious.
To me, of course. To me.
I'm already on Chapter 12, and I'm taking a break because I'm beginning to repeat myself. That's usually a sign that the muse doesn't need more caffeine.
It needs a pillow.
– MenO
