I’ve heard you can’t go home and, to some extent, it’s true. The home that I knew? It’s no longer there, and for good reason. I wouldn’t want it to be there. It’s far more grand and fantastical in my head as memories than actually being there. It’ll never be the same that I remember.
I woke with something in my head… but, I couldn’t quite settle on what it was. Get it? I’m the nervous magician waiting in the wings.
I wrote MONSTER to satisfy an urge–to scratch an itch–and it did just that. I feel good about it, I really do. I’ll continue to push it out there–revise, edit and make it better. I will make it perfect. Therein lies the rub, however, because I’m not sure how. Beneath the errors and misgivings lies my story’s heart. The blood red organ that gives life to my disastrous little tale may not be the most apparent, but its there, beating away, deep inside its dying corpse. I have to save it, but I’m no heart surgeon–hell, I barely know CPR.