A few days ago, I babbled about the Voices in my everyday blog. Last night I found one of the pieces that is sort of a defining moment about the Voices. About one Voice in particular, and about how those Voices interact with other people's Voices, and well, I suppose if you read between the lines you can see a lot of other things in there. If you're not careful how you read, you'll see things that aren't there.
Wow, that makes no sense. *laughs*
The piece is called Into the Dream and Chris Gladis and I cowrote it back in 1995-1996. It began as a challenge thrown out during The Mad Tea Party -- a vampfest that started out as a simple exchange of photos between friends and then suddenly had over 20 people attending it. Whoops! The story was written during a curious dance that helped define our friendship.
It won't spoil the ending of the story to say that Chris is still very much a part of my life -- he is the godfather of my eldest child, Danielle.
But you won't see that in the story. Instead, it is a psychological exploration of self. Of how we represent ourselves, to ourselves. How we, as writers and gamers, deal with reality around us. Of who we are.
I'll admit, it isn't our best writing. I know both Chris and I have done better since then. And I suppose its possible that we may take this and work to clean it up somewhat. But for the moment, I'll let it stand in its original form, written as we passed it back and forth. Many of the scenes within it are taken from life -- mixing fantasy and reality in a way that really is a defining part of the story.
It certainly made for an interesting few months, even in reality. *chuckles* *fond smiles at remembrances*
I've changed a lot since then. After all, that was the year that ended with me getting married, buying a house, and shortly after that, conceiving my daughter. I've gone on to be a manager, to have a second child. Published my first (and only) professional sale of a story. Had to grow up because I'm a mom. Sometimes wished I didn't have to.
And in the middle of everything, the Voices are still there. Still oh so much a part of me, and of how I deal with things. The players change, perhaps, some becoming silent while some others become louder. And periodically, as they are invoked, they remind me of their presence with a sudden earth-shattering clarity of noise.
And I once again feel Laurie's hand on my shoulder. Or see how tall Jezebel has become. Or wonder how Jenny is doing now.
I want to write again. And to let the Voices sing through my fingertips.