Where do I even begin? Maybe I should start by saying that I don’t “game plan” my writing. I sit; I write. It’s that simple. I never steer a story’s direction, nor do I even attempt to influence it in any way. I see images in my mind; I feel emotions wash over me. Then I go about creating… It’s not something I can easily describe.
Each story has life. Each story is a life. It’s my responsibility to birth it. I allow each their own identity. They are my children, and I am equally proud of them all.
Have you read Sex-Starved Thing on Pen of the Damned yet? I have no issue telling you it’s quite the story. It’s a depraved tale about a man and his Sex-Starved Thing. It is brutal. It is violent. It is disturbing. Yet it’s about as beautiful a piece of prose as I have ever written.
I created Sex-Starved Thing while sitting in my basement. Ipad on my lap; wine on my table. Stereo cranked. No motive inside my head. But there it was: “Nails grate across stone; she comes for me.” The beginnings of a new life. As I said earlier, it’s that simple. No game plan. No map.
But that only scratches the surface. True, I had no idea how my story would develop. But once crafted, I realized my subconscious screamed out on many darker levels. Is Sex-Starved Thing a state of unconditional love or a condemnation to love’s conditions? Hmm. So many things unanswered; so many angles left to ponder on your own.
What does it stir within you?