Confession from Yours Truly

Moving from description to action is an anxiety-ridden experience for me. I am a painter. After writing two successful descriptive sentences I always freeze, for fear of tangling myself up with the characters whose stories move too quickly in my head for me to catch up to. Do you ever feel that way? Do you ever feel like you have such a burning image in your mind, like a divine vision that you feel absolutely obligated to express? I’m working with one of those now and I want to continue, I must continue, but I want to do the absolute best job I can, giving souls to the characters that I channel. Anyone can spare a character a life, but a soul is an entirely different matter. I have a pre-adventure stress syndrome.  I’m afraid of tripping over myself, silly idiomatic expressions, and poorly articulated, half-edited details. Most of all, I am afraid my T.B.C’s will collect dust, and webby real estate.

2.

Several yards from where she was standing, Q. could see a blur of brightly colored forms arranging and rearranging themselves almost as beads do when placed in the barrel of a kaleidoscope. To say that the forms were beads in a kaleidoscope would be entirely inaccurate, for the mysterious blur of whatever-it-was or whomever-it-could-be, moved in such a way that was explicitly ethereal.

 

T.B.C… 

1.

The reading according to the maritime barometer (located on the wall, somewhere between the stairs and kitchen) indicated that there would be no snow today. K never paid any attention to the barometer's readings, and so the barometer, whether correct or incorrect in its predictions existed only as a decorative entity to occupy the awkward space between the kitchen and the staircase. 

T.B.C...