Everything passes as if in a haze; blanketed by the gloom of the persistent gray fog. From the haze, if you look hard enough, you can explore the secrets of another world. Quite frankly, I hate the fog. I’ve been wanting to go to our local ice cream shop for the past week and a half, but no, it has to be too cold for that, without any hope for the sun to shine through. I’d go to the local coffee shops but there are far too many “writers” there. The act of writing should be personal. I like locking myself in my walk in closet and writing by the dim glow of a reading light. I know, weird, but if we weren’t weird we wouldn’t be writers.
I like the darkness. The reason we fear the darkness is because we don’t know what could be hiding away in it; but I flock toward it. In the darkness I find my most inspiring characters. I’m not telling you to go write in the dark, though it might be fun to watch… The most personal of my characters was born in the dark. Their world formed out of the fog of my imagination.
So I guess I owe the fog, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. If anyone read this madness to the end the lesson is; I still want my ice cream.