The night falls silent as all others around me have fallen upon their pillow and spiral toward slumber. Even the cat stretched lazily across the back of the couch looks at me through half slit eyes as if to say why aren’t you asleep. I ask myself that question, one I’ve asked on so many nights when sleep proves a most elusive goal and I’ve come to think that it is in the silence that only night can bring that I find my voice.
So I sit again at the keyboard and let the words flow and carve images deep into this reality. Nouns and adjectives my tools for creating a world that has existed nowhere other than in my imagination and peopling it with characters whose lives did not have breathe until my words gave them life.
Now I stop to ponder where the story takes me next and while I let the characters debate I fill the silence with these words so as not to interrupt theirs. There is much to discuss after all, my book is not yet born and unable able to exist and grow on its own but to force its growth may damage its development so I let the characters ruminate amongst themselves at the back of my mind while I ruminate on the process of bringing them to life.