The flood gates have opened.
I'd forgotten how all-consuming writing can be...when the characters begin to take shape, begin to speak to me. Begin to pound at me, scream at me.
This afternoon, standing in the hottest shower I could stand, one of my characters began to scream in my head. Punched in the stomach by the panic and terror in her voice as she screamed for her father. Overwhelmed by her grief and fear, her voice came out as my own and I doubled over and sobbed for her.
This is what I do.
I can't write her if I don't become her.
At least for a little while.
At least while I exorcise her.
I guess I won't return to the piece I'd been working on since last week's writing session tonight.
Tonight another will speak.
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