It Is The Way

I started a short story yesterday before work, one that was burning and itching to come out. Because that’s how it fucking works. I’ll be doing something completely unrelated, and then an idea takes over. And I mean takes over.

All of a sudden, I become useless at everything else. I don’t remember how to get ready. I don’t remember how to brush my teeth. I don’t remember shit, except how to write.

So flash forward to tonight. And by “tonight,” I mean from 2:00 in the goddamned morning until about five.

I finished it.

And it’s pretty fucking good. Not going to lie, I love how it turned out.

So I did what I usually do at five in the morning when it’s not a work day. I shut off the light, closed my eyes, and tried to sleep.

And when sleep didn’t come, I laughed. Because I knew I wasn’t done.

I hadn’t submitted it anywhere yet. The job wasn’t finished.

And then I laughed out loud, actually laughed, because I know better than that. My mind doesn’t leave things unfinished. It won’t shut the fuck up until I close the loop.

So here I am. Back up. Talking to Rune. Looking for a home for this story.

The work continues. And I think that matters.

When something is in you, when you’re chasing the thing you were meant to do, it’s all-consuming. There is no middle ground. There is no “later,” because now is later.

When a story takes hold of me, I’m not done until it’s written, and either submitted or placed somewhere it has a shot at being seen.

Only then is it done.

And then it’s on to the next one. The next story that starts pounding against the inside of my skull, trying to claw its way onto the page.

My obligation, the promise I made to God, is to follow that. To follow the pull. To lean into the obsession. To let it take me wherever the hell it wants to go.

That, my friends, is the way.