Dreary, is the word that comes to mind—at this particular moment in time; in regards to the state of my up and coming novel,
which in fact is nearly five months over due.
Then, a swelling of the creative energetic surge (Urge?):
I find myself wanting to scribe a history of great gods, before the fall of the Sumerian. And link it to Gods inexistence—

"Somewhere between Oblivion and You. I write these words, and marvel at the pain in my heart, My dear Luci." - From my novel.

Naive serendipity dripping as well ink tends to do from a memorable pen.
Five years…Five years.
No, this is not a rehash of a David Bowie song—it is the time and space (Somewhere, Somehow) it’s taken me to get from point A to point B,
with many a twist and turn (Turn about, turn around) and I wonder, when I get right down to it: Why can I write of an in everything else,
except my novel.
Check mate…Queen takes King.
You know, it started simple enough—as all ideas do, I presume.
A minute plot, a interweaving of layers, an over the top climax and the great let down.
Good conquers Evil and the Flaming Hot-n-Tot rouge gets the garter clad Mademoiselle in distress.
Cliché. Drama.
To quote from Topsy-Turvy: “Laugher, Curtain, Tears.”
There is a difference, My Difference and indifferent take on the whole religion versus science monologue.
Where Good and Evil are both sides of the Popes coin, and where as Milton wrote of Lucifer being a tragic hero, overcome with belated sorrow;
My version involves all creation in a virtual time-stand-still, never-may-care sort of plush and puke environment.
Ah, yes—the most redundant of places New Orleans. But why stop there! So many settings and so many multi-dimensional characters.
To write, is to paint a vivid picture—to paint scenes in letters and punctuation.
To have the reader surmise and construe the exact passion the writer felt she needed to breath life in any given paragraph----
But I do regress.

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