OMG! What Even!

'What was I even writing here? Where was I going with this?' The computer screen glared at me, a most obscene shade of white. The last few words were there in black and white. I don’t remember writing them.

‘The beginning of the end was all that he had hoped for. Now that it was here what else was there to do for an adventurer?’

What did that even mean? This was a detective story. It was supposed to be all film noir, and gritty, and gumshoes, and dames with legs for days. This sounded like cheap knock off fantasy fiction. I mean, he did get away with the girl, they took down the mob boss. Happy ending?

What else is in the folders? I closed that document and opened another one. Just a sentence there, ‘Withholding the danger he knew the consequences.’ I mean seriously, what does that mean. Why would I create a new document just to put that there? Close this document and try again.

This one looks promising. “The Cataclysm” Well, it is more than one sentence, 855 words according to the word count. After reading what little is there, I can’t tell what I was getting into. It’s just basic laying the groundwork. I’m not sure where I wanted to go or even what the cataclysm was.

What if I just started a new story? What if I just finished one of the ones I’m working on now? What if I actually publish something? What if someone actually likes one of my stories? What if someone becomes so obsessed with my writing that they kidnap me and force me to write stories featuring them? What if they’re buddy cop stories featuring my kidnapper and I? What if those stories go on to sell more books than I had with my previous books? What if we have to go on book signing tours together? What if he suggests to the editors that as a “gag” I’m kept chained up at the events so it looks like I’m really his captive? What if having sixteen cups of coffee in an hour is a bad idea and you start having crazy thoughts?

I can feel the pressure in my head and chest again. It’s not the caffeine pressure, I know that one all too well. It’s the worlds. The worlds that live inside my head are pushing out. They need to be heard. They need to be placed on paper and brought to life.

There was a young girl dangling her feet over the cliff and looking out into the valley.

A knock on the door at 2am is never a good sign, and that’s just what I needed.

To say that Sean was a bastard was being polite.

In the land of pink grass and blue trees there lived a Floumble.

The thoughts of all these characters and their worlds was a cacophony in my head. Inside my mind they all lived in the same universe on the same planet but at different stages. They were all connected because they were my creations. They all breathed with life because I crammed a bunch of letters together in a coherent thought.

I walk away from my laptop to clear my head and maybe choose a world to go visit today. I grab a refillable coffee mug from the gas station closest to my work and fill it with water. Enough to keep me hydrated and not move until I’m done writing. A bowl of chips for snacking and some beef jerky.

I sit back down in my chair and wake my laptop from its slumber. The dark screen slowly brightening and bringing back up my Writing Documents folder. Great. Back here again. Slowly agonizing over the selections, I finally click on one and open it up.

‘There was never a reason for the sun to go out. There was never a reason for the moon to disappear. There was never a reason for me to stop loving you. There was never a reason for you to stop loving me. But you did, and you denied that you did. That is what I find unbearable.’

It was four years ago when I wrote this. I don’t even remember the time frame or the impetus for this conversation. Reading through what I’ve written already, looks like I’m trying to create a romance novel. Couple breaks up after tragic event, tries to move on, tries to reconcile.

Should they? What if it’s a romance where they don’t get back together? They’re perfect for each other but it doesn’t work out. That would be interesting. Let’s go with that.

‘She glared back at him, tears and anger in her eyes. “Sometimes love isn’t what we think it is even if it’s everything we’ve been hoping for.” She screamed over the howling of the noon wind. She brought herself up from where she was sitting and walked towards Derek. He just stood there, anticipating. “You don’t understand why I left, why I stopped loving you. I don’t understand it either. Everything tells me that I should. There are pictures of us getting married that I don’t remember. Pictures of us in a tropical resort. Pictures of us hiking. The pictures are in the thousands and span years. But I don’t remember any of them.” Tears streamed through the dust on Abigail’s face.

Derek stared at her. He knows the pictures; he knows the videos. He doesn’t understand why he doesn’t remember anything either. The alert whistle went off. It was time to clear the streets out before the smog clouds parted and everything was bathed in acid rain. He started to reach out to touch her. She was staring off towards the sound of the whistle, her strands of hair from under her gas mask and hood whipping in the wind. She glanced at his hand moving and slowly walked away.

He stood there with a confused heart breaking. All I want to do is hold you in my arms and I don’t know why that’s so familiar.’