My life, designed by me.
Eleven days to go. Eleven days before I freefall into the abyss of hopes and dreams. I am rather excited. I have given the self doubt a hefty dose of horse tranquiliser and tied her up in the closet. I know I have made the right decision to leave my job. I know I am possibly crazy…in a good way, that is.
I am currently like an impatient child in the early hours of Christmas morning. Unable to sleep, tossing and turning, waiting for the almost unbearable excitement to start. I have always been impatient. Sometimes it’s stressful being as highly strung as me!
The reason I am so eagerly counting down is that I am so sick of writing in fits and starts. I just settle into the groove of writing and need to go to bed. Or, more frequently these days, need to leave for work! I feel like I am so connected and immersed in my writing that I could happily not surface for days.
I long to race home everyday and fill my fictional world with brilliant colours and vivid sensation. I want to make papery leaves in fictional trees rustle, I want to warm the characters as they explore their world and discover who they are with heat from a fictional sun. I want them to feel a breeze on their cheek, the touch and taste of one another’s lips and the heat from each other’s skin. I want them to smell wonderful smells like the ocean, freshly mown lawn and the indescribably delicate and intoxicating smell of a newborn baby’s skin.
These are the defining qualities that I want a book that I write to have. I want the world between the covers to be vivid in its entirety and for a reader to feel like there is tangible, warm, red, blood flowing through the veins of these characters who have been incarnated from my words. I want my readers to lose themselves in the fictional world, following the characters wherever they lead them and feel like they too, live in my lovingly crafted fictional world, that was once simply thoughts and untyped words.