I laid awake at 0356 this morning and wrote a character for a book I hope I’m able to write. He’s not what I had originally pictured but as I sussed out his detail it seem to fit better than the character I had “written” before.
I laid awake for over an hour a bit pissed that I wasting sleeping time (which is a hot commodity lately) but he came to me so strong and real I had to let my mind wonder all over him. His flaws are many, but I felt my heart full of the man he WANTED to be. I even got a fuzzy vision of his mother.
All I can say is he’s came to me as a wounded biracial man. Half black and half samoan. Which isn’t how I envisioned him at all, but there you have it. I don’t even have a name for him yet. Nothing that is rolling around in my spirit fits yet.
I’m hoping more will come to me and I’m able to write what I envision. It’s hard because a part of me believes when I write this tale, it will cause people in my life to question me and I’m not ready to face that. I’m hoping to avoid it all together.
I feel like a fish in a bowl, just swimming in my think tank for all to see and judge me. I don’t want to answer those questions I just want to write this book. This story.