The shift that happens for a writer, usually from one genre to another, is likely because one of the silent characters has decided to remain silent no longer. He (or she) screams their thoughts until their words permeat mine. It is then that I go to stillness, listen, and begin typing what I hear them say.
Today, the shift happened. I was drawn to the image of an abandoned building – the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum in Weston, West Virgina to be exact.
I realized I was the one being haunted — visited by the spirit of a Celtic witch, who was kidnapped and survived life at sea with pirates. A story of survival. She obviously has more for me and I need to listen.
This morning was errand time. I drove around for about two hours listening to the radio going insane with comments about the “Fake News” in the latest media frenzy. Everyone has their opinion — no one really knows for sure (although some stomp a foot and swear by their sources).…