Mine won't shut up. They are in some limbo yard, chattering and running and jumping at the walls to try to climb over and and jump for a chance to live a life on the page. They just want to be heard.
It's easy to see how writers are prone to maladies and madness.
The solitude from which you feed also feeds from you.
Nourish and deplete.
These self imposed writer retreats are much that way.
When I spend a lot of time in the head of my characters it starts to affect my mood. I can become dark if their stories are dark ones.
This is why it takes me so long to commit to sit.
I know that once I do, it will spread like an ink drop in a glass of water. That's how I see the darkness enter me- swirling slowly down in a beautifully hypnotic process
But if I don't let it come out through my tapping fingers, the voices won't stop.
The only way to make them quiet is to tell their stories. It's hard to say if it is an channeling or performing an exorcism. Chapters write themselves in my head, but only seeing the words in physical form will do.
So that's what I am doing in my little retreat by the ocean in a winter storm- trying to free some souls and quiet some voices.
And walk that thin dark line.
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| my sweet retreat |
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