About Cupid
So, I wrote a very short piece of fiction. The idea just kind of came to me all at once driving to the movies. In the van I can’t talk to anyone, or use a computer, but I’m not nervous either. My assistant checks in on me regularly enough to where I can really think without distraction. I still wander into worry, but not about my imminent demise. I try to think about writing. I actually do most of my writing in my head, then it’s just a matter of physically typing things. So, I got the idea for Cupid and decided it was worth typing.
It’s the first piece of fiction I’ve written in two years and it’s the first that I don’t find embarrassing. I’m not yet a solid “story-teller,” I’m weak on visual description, but I’m not afraid to say that I’m really comfortable with my voice and use of craft. I may be a weak “story-teller,” but I have definite skill as a “writer.” I’ve lived a lot in the last few years and I think it shows in my writing. The story-telling will improve if I keep going.
I’m at a very odd time in my life, there’s fear, uncertainty, regret, desire, hope. It’s all potential fuel for amazing writing if it doesn’t break me first. I don’t particularly worry about any kind of massive and permanent psychological breakdown, but one never knows about the rest.
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