Have you ever been in the middle of something and decided that you should probably be keeping track of it somehow? Welcome to the life of an amateur writer, would-be novelist and (mostly) unpublished fiction author.
Have you ever wanted to grab someone by the teeth and yank them across the room? Because, in writing, that’s what you’re supposed to do all the time.
The question that always catches me up with magic is this: When magic becomes mundane, does the wizard use it to turn a profit?
And nobody ever talks about it.
We’re all familiar with this scene:
It’s dark. The assassin slips into the home undetected. He moves through the house without a sound. Up the stairs, past the sleeping children. He doesn’t even wake the dog. He creeps into the bedroom of Soon-To-Be-Murdered and grins. Too easy, too easy.
I’m a bit of a hoarder.
You won’t find me keeping every piece of kitchenware I’ve ever owned or a nice tower of televisions in my home. Most material things, I don’t want to hang onto.
But words and paragraphs? Until recently, I hung onto those like a lifeline.