Sunday, January 13, 2013

A Long Bumpy Road

Traveling through the holidays was the usual journey and not entirely an unhappy one. My daughter and her family moved away where she enjoyed her first white Christmas sharing her fascination through photos. All our parents, but one, have left their terrestrial journey, and most friends have taken residence in distant places. Few are left, and that adds a bitterness to the holidays which I know we share with many. I heard of grand family gatherings and have such things tucked in my memory. My brother works at his church in a position which demands overtime through this time of year. He lives with us, but we only saw him at odd times making the best of it when we had the opportunity. My wife and I had lots of time together not that dissimilar from the joys of the royal suite at The Villa; we don’t have to be royalty to enjoy each other, and like Julian and Carolyn, we are each other’s best friend. She sooths my longing heart, and I hers.


My writing has produced a novella which we are proofing together, and it should come out soon for those of you desperate for another fix of The Rising series. I apologize for leaving you hanging for so long between books. I’m still editing book two with number three to follow shortly thereafter. I’m brushing off the many whispers from my Haunting books and short stories like pollen from my shoulder, but they are tempting forks in the road I force myself to veer away from. I know the way back to each of them; their trails are clearly marked to my eyes of intimate acquaintance with notes and much more than bread crumbs to lead me back when the time is ripe.


Forward has been a direction needing great discipline in the face of a rash of migraines that demand I stop, but cannot transfix me when they drain away my resolve. The scent of The Great Expansion permeates me and cannot be lost even when it seems a great distance away. Ethereal roving has captured me in incomprehensible cloud-lands, castles, and dungeons left in the wake of the sparkling rainbow aura. Those who suffer migraines should understand how real these phantoms are when you’re forced to hang on to reality as it tips towards an unknown precipice. You ask yourself, “Did I have a stroke,” and for good reason; they are very much alike, but their residue differs.


…but look, there is a signpost ahead, and it says “Exit.” You ponder what that means: will it lead me out or further still from mental confines. With my gift of sight I am able to discern a sigh more distant than the first, and it says, “Come, write, least you forget that you are an author.”


So, I have chosen, and am back on my path. What a wild ride it has been, and like Alice returning from Wonderland, I have much to write.


Thank you my friends and followers for your personal encouragements and reviews of The Rising of Julian Adams. This has revealed the wizard behind the curtain, and I have backed away from the fa├žade to join the real world again.