Thursday, March 28, 2013
Dysfunctional At Best.
There are days when the words crash over me in waves. I live for those days: there's nothing better than reading over something I wrote in a flurry of mad inspiration. I often edit those passages without remembering writing a damn thing. It's an alien voice ringing in my ears, and I get caught up in my own worlds.
I spend entirely too much time creating something from nothing. Every story, every post, everything--it's a labor I wouldn't wish on anyone. I obsess over statistics, I scroll through email accounts like a rolodex, and absorb conversations like a sponge.
My wife puts up with me for the most part. She watches over my shoulder most of the time; a little voice of reason when I'm banging my face against the desk because a sentence won't come together. It's amazing how agonizing a single word can become when it stands between me and the end of a project.
Tonight I put together the e-book cover for one of my new stories, 'Something Wicked', and after everything was said and done, my little angel of salvation whispered over my shoulder,"I've never liked red letters..."
I screamed internally, I felt my blood heat to a boiling point. I wanted to say I didn't make it for her, but I didn't, because I did... That's when I started over in a new color. She hates doing that to me, almost as much as I hate having it done. The new color looks great, and I'll be able to share it alongside a tease of the new work here in a few days, but not just yet. I want to savor the victory quietly first.
I love her dearly for pointing out my artistic flaws, but damn...I still have two more covers to put together and I have the distinct impression it's going to hurt.