1.53 – What I’m Working On

Now that my NaNoWriMo book is done (the writing process, not the editing), I’ve decided to start working again on my prior project. In revisiting my original work, I am actually excited to pick where I left off. Here’s my writers rundown.

After my father passed away, I had this sick revelation on my balcony. Death makes you realize your own mortality and in recognizing the facts; someday I’m going to die, I decided that it’s about time I get over my phobia of rejection and put my ideas in motion. It’s a win win. A. I write something awesome, get published and offer my son a way better life then I ever knew. B. I don’t get published but I follow my dreams til my last breath and my son knows that I’m not a hypocrite when I tell him to reach for the stars. Either way, in following my dream with passion, I’m leaving my son something worthwhile.

So, I started working on a piece that I’ve been thinking about for about four years. I wish I could explain it in a really straight forward way…but it’s that much of a work in progress that I can’t figure out how. The following is a conversation between Octavius (Fire) and (Air) <—(He doesn’t have a name yet). The Elementra’s have just had a meeting in which they have discovered they are, in fact, not the perfect forms and are destined to be replaced by a girl residing on earth.

It is not for us to say who is the perfect form.

If not us, than who? Are we not the untouchables, the endless?

Our existence has little, if anything at all to do with our right or ability to dictate such things. Do not be naïve in your thoughts. We are of endless possibility but we are not the truest forms of untouchable. Those that are have made the decision, one that we did nothing to forbid if not encouraged.

You speak of them the way the mortals speak of a god. But what is there to worship, to respect. Time and space are the immeasurable beings, those that go on and on, never to cease no matter if anyone else walks or breathes again. But do they not need us in order of relevance? Why create the possibility of snuffing us out with this one supposed perfect form if we were created originally. What point is there to that?

You don’t listen when I speak, do you? Time and space created us, allowed us to grow, creating all that we know and perhaps what we don’t. But they owe us nothing. They gave us this plain to work with, as a potter works with his clay. The mortals have worked with what they were given…

And look at what they have done. You tell me we go to their plain and sacrifice our very essence to quench the thirst of one girl.

She is not just one girl

She is that girl, the perfect form. If I hear someone call her the perfect form one more time, I’ll obliterate a country with no second thought. ‘Perfect’ oh look, there goes an entire continent. I’m at my wits end.

You are feeling what they feel.


Fear of mortality.

So that is Book number one, which is now my current focus. While working on this piece, which I’ve titled Euphoric Damnation, I started having the idea for Dream Catcher.

Dream Catcher is the book I wrote for NaNoWrimo. It is about a young child who has the ability to dream things into life. She dreams silly things: freeing animals, owning ice cream parlors, owning famous paintings. When she awakes, her dreams have unfolded in reality, causing quite a stir with her family. Finding a place focused on special children with such abilities, the girls parents send her away. By the end of the book, the girl has aged seven years (although just a few months have passed, The Circle is introduced, the girl visits Dreamscape and battles an unforeseen enemy. If dreamscape can turn the dreams of the pure into worldly  inspiration (living muses), what can dreamscape do for the dreams of the wicked?

That explanation might sound confusing but it makes sense to me thus far. I’m sure during the editing process, I will be able to make it sound more cohesive. I’ve got a long way to go but I believe in these two pieces very much. That’s all I can go on.

Feedback encouraged.


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