“Be Not Proud”

I think about death more now than I once did. Not with fear or trepidation, but rather a relief similar to the surrender in falling asleep. A release, if you like, from the weight and sluggishness of physical being. I used to be afraid of death. Now I believe I would welcome it.

I am not that old.

* * *

I recently found this blurb in a old notebook. It’s not me; it’s a new character who could end up being the villain in yet another story idea. I found more notes that were doubtless unrelated, being in a different book and jotted down months, if not years, after this one, yet they could all apply to one story. Angels and vampires, perhaps, with a mortal caught in between. My paranormal repertoire seems to be expanding.

Some authors make a detailed outline before they start a project, kind of like writing a business plan before committing to a contract in the real world; alas, such is not the way for Ru. Normally, I am accosted by a character who wants me to be the scribe, but occasionally I will stumble upon the bones of a plot first. In those cases, I’ll still focus primarily on character because what use are the bones without the spirit to animate them? but once a character commits, I’d rather build the story as I write rather than having it all mapped out ahead of time.

Good thing I’m not in construction. Anything I built would look like it belonged in Whoville.