I have a short story trapped in my skull.
It itches.
I know its there because I can feel it moving around. I know its a short story because I have a lot of empty space in my head, and it isn’t filling it. But its there. I can feel the creative juices sloshing around, yearning to be freed. I actually feel pensive, waiting for the husk that’s holding the story in my head to crack so I can start writing it.
It burns. Oh, it burns.
My fingers are undecided. I could coax this one out – but should I sit down at a keyboard? Should I pick up a pen and paper? So many mediums, so little time to decide when the birthing ritual begins.
I’ve warned Kim. Thank goodness its a long weekend, because birthing a short story can be exciting, a rush, and completely blinding.
It yearns. I yearn.
I’ve tried encouraging it out. Last weekend during the hurricane preparedness for the storm that never was, I sorted through and organized a stash of Fred Saberhagen books. Oh, the memories those brought back! So this week, I went through a stack of David Weber and David Drake books, reliving some great moments in fantastical science fiction with an adventurous/military bent.
By the by, if you haven’t read any of these authors – which is possible, they were big in the 80’s and 90’s in particular, but only Weber still has a big presence as far as I know – head over to the Baen free library, where you can grab a few of their books along with a bunch of other Baen authors for free.
Rereading these guys – even just browsing through the covers – has been both nostalgic and inspiring.
And for a moment there, I almost forgot about that short story that’s waiting to explode. Man, I hope its up to this hype.
