God help me I’m ready to sit down to write, something I think about all day at work, I wake up thinking about it and pray about it – sit down into a hot flash.
It’s a perfect evening in Norther Indiana. The rain is so gentle and once and a while I hear the rumble of thunder. The green of spring still has that neon glow under the lowering gray sky. The rain is so gentle that I still hear the distant sound of the birds.
Every once in a while, the subdued north wind softly seeps in. The pattering of the rain calls for a cot next to the window and a languid feeling to settle in. I think of cotton curtains and thick flannel shirts against my skin. The distant train horn calls out, and I wonder how anyone could want to be anywhere but home.
It’s been a long day, and I’ve had little time to think about my novel, Quincey. This novel has changed me. It has taken me into places I thought I would never go. To write it has not been a mere journey into research but into deep reflection and change. Being reared a Protestant, I’ve entered the Catholic church. Writing about the battle against evil has sent me searching for more than raising up my crucifix and hoping for the best.
I need to know how and why we got here. And I need to know how in this 21st century how the evil I’m writing about has become good, and good evil.
I’ve been deceived in my life, and it’s a painful experience. I’ve been deceived by people, and I’ve allowed myself to be deceived. In writing Quincey, I see society as being deceived into thinking that they can fight evil alone, by making it good in their own minds.
Quincey is my attempt to combat the deception.
Never mind really – it’s just a ramble.