Did you ever happen to hear an author saying that “he was only the conduit for his book”? It’s happened several times to me.
And maybe, like you, I didn’t know what to believe. But how could you explain the number of books that writers such as Stephen King, George R.R. Martin (before the 5th volume in the Game of Thrones series), are able to crank out every year. It seems that they are writing around the clock, hooked to perfusions that feed them not only nutritious juices, but an infinite palette of ideas to last them three lifetimes. Even those who wrote a book or two claim to be just vessels of transmitting a piece of useful information to their fellow mortals. To be honest, now I believe them. I felt the same during the conception of “The Decadence of Our Souls”. It was not a painful process at all, but a daily joy to pick up the pen and face the empty page in an exercise of self-discovery. It was also the excitement of finding out for myself what the characters are up to that day. Would Danish, in the end, kill Manoti, his Commoner sister? Would Rakash, the Orange Soul, identify the purpose One Who Created All sent him back for? Would the state of bliss be artificially generated so that anyone could enjoy a mental ascension? I was not sure myself of where the story and the characters I created would take me. Writing, in my opinion, is in fact an interactive exercise with a higher Being that dictates us a book that was already written in the collective library and is assigned to the right person to bring it forward. It’s one of the ideas detailed in the book. As usual, your feedback is expected. Until next time, with Love & Gratitude, ClaudiuBLOG COMMENTS POWERED BY DISQUS