Deadly Troubadour

I’m still in the middle of camp season, which means that five of every eight days is in the mountains. Understandably many of my little projects are essentially put on a shelf during camp season.

But this last break something great happened. I had the time and energy to write. Normally during the breaks I am trying to catch up on being a father and husband, not to mention catch up on sleep and other life issues that there is no time.

Don’t worry, I did all that stuff this break too, but I also had a few hours to just get on front of my keyboard and add to the sequel. It wasn’t startling progress, just around 2200 words, but it was progress. And it was a reminder. I love writing.

There is just a great feeling that comes along with shaping a story and putting it out there. A feeling of letting it percolate in the brain, flow down the spine and over the shoulders, through the arms and out through the fingers. Even as I write little connections that I didn’t fully realize I was setting up make themselves known.

That sense of taking a rough hewn rock of a first draft and then polishing and chiseling it down to a proper narrative. It is art. Even the more troublesome side of editing, looking for typos, repeated words, spelling, even that form of error elimination to try and make the read as smooth as possible brings a feeling of adding a little more beauty into the world.

But really it is that feeling of breathing life into characters and situations that I enjoy the best. What was a white page with nothing to offer, except potential gets covered with ink and the power of that ink is to create a new existence.

When camp ends and before school starts I’m going to have about 15 days of break. I want to spend as much time as possible getting words on paper. I’m behind schedule so I doubt I’ll be able to finish the first draft of the sequel but I want to get as close as possible.

Because I just love writing.