As I mentioned in a previous post, Where Shadows Loom will be going live before long. I still have the galley to proof and the cover design to approve–that sort of thing. Now that it’s about done, I can say I had fun writing this book, its twists and turns, developing its unsavory characters. The story is largely about greed, how it can get the better of people. One bad act leads to another and so on. It is also about one’s facing his or her fears. These characters are forced to confront issues that have haunted them throughout their lives. How they deal with these confrontations is what propels the story to its conclusion.
As you have probably figured out, Where Shadows Loom is a departure from Wandering West. Though Wandering West certainly has its episodes of suspense, Shadows is a suspense novel, a genre that seems to come naturally to me. I hope you enjoy the read, and as always, let me know your thoughts.
Meanwhile, I feel another story stirring inside these creaky old bones. Time will tell whether or not this one succeeds in nudging my quiescent brain into the manic state of writing fiction. If it appears destined to make its way onto perfect-bound paper and electronic screens, I’ll let you know.
Good question. I don’t really have a good answer, just the ‘write’ one. (Sorry, I inherited a propensity for making puns from my dad.) Actually, writing can be a royal pain in the butt. Excruciatingly so sometimes. To be honest with you, I dread the thought of it, until an idea strikes me the way a chair rocking over an outstretched tail enlivens a slumbering cat. It gets me moving, if you will.
But if writing creates such an emotional upheaval, why do it? Are you just a glutton for punishment? Are you just stupid? I refuse to answer that–and don’t you answer it. Well, why not just curl your tail between your legs–away from the blasted rocker? Another good question. I guess the answer to that is, I can’t. You must really love to write then.
I love to create. If I could paint, I suppose I would paint. If I could make music, surely I would do that. Either of those would be wonderful vehicles for creating, if only I could ride them. I know what many of you are thinking right about now. Gary, you can’t pedal the writing tricycle without a wobble either. Well, that said, we do the best we can with the tools available to us, don’t we? I create the only way I know how. In my mind, I am a painter of canvas. I am a composer of music. Only I use words rather than paintbrushes or piano keys. Words are my notes. Paragraphs are my backdrop, my rhythm; and chapters, my melody. The story is my song and I sing it as best I can. So, yes, I guess I do love to write fiction. Because that is how I create. I find my rhythm, work toward a crescendo, and then let the music play itself to a conclusion.
I hope you listen to my music. I hope you envision the image on my canvas. Creating–it’s what I am compelled to do. My painting. My song. So let the music play.