“V S Naipaul: If a writer knows everything that’s going to happen, then his book is dead before it begins.
Tom Robbins: In any case, my disappointment was offset by the fact that now, 100 pages into the book, it had taken over my life, had assumed a life of its own. I couldn’t have stopped it with an atom bomb.”
-Tom Robbins, Tibetan Peach Pie
This is exactly how I feel when I get into whatever story it is that I am writing — the tale completely takes me over. It consumes my life. It manifests a life of its own. It invades my dreams. It conquests my waking hours until its tale is sung and it can be put to rest.
But, until then…I get no rest (and I rather enjoy the rush!)
My imagination haunts me so that I am awoken at un-godly hours of the night to write its words and release its demons — truly, it won’t let me sleep until the words are written down and released from the confines of my mind.
Upon the written page my stories take LIFE! They far surpass the scribbles that started them and morph into an adventure I never expected to unfold.
This is why I write. I write to release what is held within me.