I sit here at oh, at three thirty nine in the morning writing a blog to a few people that might one day catch a glimpse of an article I have written. Or maybe someone has decided to do some research into the idiotic novelist that thought he gained inspiration through Hemingway. Either way it’s the three thirty nine IN THE MORNING that bothers me more than anything else.
Today I have finally finished the first draft of my latest novel “The Unexpected”. The repercussions have been just that, unexpected. I only moved from my chair from four o’clock till midnight a handful of times to grab a fresh beer or to smoke a cigarette. The computer is working considerably slower and the poor keys have been punched all day long (minus the Tildie button). The research and all finally came together in my final stretch of imagination that was cleverly put to paper. Then after say eight beers and eight hours of writing I step out on the back porch for a smoke. The wifey calls and says that he’ll be leaving within the half hour. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I was going through.
Last night I couldn’t get to sleep until five thirty in the morning which I was woken only four hours later by the wonderful sounds of snoring. Today after staring at a computer screen for so long and forgetting to eat I sat on the back porch of my house which is located only five blocks from center city and I start seeing hallucinations! Where was this feeling when I was busy smoking purple haze and consuming dangerous amounts of homemade absinthe? So here I am smoking a cigarette when out of the corner of my eye I see this head bob up from the neighbors grill and slide quickly behind the garage. I feel a bit jumpy but I continue to stare at this spot to see if this person pokes their head around the corner. Nothing happens for a good two minutes. I can hear some kids down the street (probably doing exactly what I described just a bit ago; purple…). I turn to ash my cigarette into the appropriate container when I swear I see a pasty white face walking from the dining room and into the kitchen looking directly at me. I do a double take.
“What the hell was that?” I ask myself as I move around to see what might have made that illusion. Let’s try nothing. Now I am getting a bit jumpy. I look down the small alley way on the side of my house half expecting to see a crazy ghost coming out of the bushes or worse yet a bigfoot or something. Nothing. I looked back to where I first saw a head bob along and there was still nothing there. Putting the cigarette out I try not to think about anything when I hear a set of keys being put on the dining room table.
“Babe!” I yell a second before my phone goes off. It’s his work, and he called to tell me that he was going to be home soon. So where did that noise come from? Chills are running up and down my arms. The book I’m working on has forced me to be creative with my imagery and imagination but now it seems as if it’s supercharged. I walk cautiously up the stairs looking in every corner of the house, then fearing that I’m going to round a corner to some sort of demon standing there.
Okay, then we go to bed. I am laying there thinking of how I could make a miniature Apache helicopter that I could fly as a one seater. Here I go thinking over specifics, I want a roll cage made of the strongest steel. It would have to be light, but you couldn’t lift it so on that steel cage I would need to have four hook holes attached, just to keep her steady during transportation. I wonder how long the blades have to be? Why would I do this? I could attach model rockets to the side that I could fire at reenactments or something.
I am horribly sorry that this entry wasn’t a very informative one. I am documenting the art of writing as best I can and thus felt this of importance. ( I was also hoping that by the end of it I would be tired…which isn’t so.) Pretty much imagination has been flowing so steadily that when I came back to reality there were some terrifying side effects of halucinations and insomnia. Just so you know.
If you have had an episode like this or think I just need some professional help, please comment
Caleb A. Mertz