I know almost everyone hates to write. Especially fiction writing. Well, maybe poetry too. Fact is most people hate writing anything more than a text or post to social media. Me? I love writing. I think it’s fun to create a group of people then put them in a place with a problem to solve and see what happens.
When I think of the word ghost, I usually think, scary story. Like the around the campfire at a campout kind of story.
I was closing on the tower. It was round with a pointed roof cap a good four stories above me. It was completely black but not like dirty stone streaked with ages of dust storms and polluted air, no it shined in the tepid moonlight reminding me of obsidian. No, it was obsidian and the surface was covered with ancient words. As hard as it was for me to believe, the tower looked to be one single piece of stone carved into this shape. As I approached, it loomed overhead shining black like the natural glass it was. This tower had been forged in the heart of a volcano and born perfectly formed just for this purpose. The writing had been etched with painstaking accuracy onto the tower’s glass surface then fused with a power that made the
Last night I went to see Frozen with two of my daughters. Got home about midnight a bit wired so I sat down and wrote and edited on The Robin Randle Stories. Next thing I know it’s 3 AM! Wow. Now today I’m still working on Robin’s tale but need to call it a day. It is Christmas.
Christmas looming and I’m still back in October. I just get stuck there every year. I love days in October when the wind is blustering about and stirring up leaves and making a mess of the world. It reminds me of my mind.