And so it seems that, after two months of hell behind the Berlin Wall, Reagan has come to my rescue. No, that really is not true. It does not matter, the truth. All that matters really is that I was able to write again today, for the first time in two months. I was able to truly write. Words flowed from my pen. I wrote 1600 words on binder paper at school, of all places. It was inspiration, pure and beautiful. I found myself able to write about Henry Erikson, something that I had sincerely doubt my ability to do. It is working. It is. And I am making him a touch more respectable than I originally intended.
But that is life. Each character needs to have redeeming qualities. Otherwise, he or she is simply hell to write about. And if you can't stand to write about your own characters, you know something is wrong.
The epilogue is not quite done. I have 2200 words or so. It is almost done. But none of this is the point. The point is this:
"Just because it's a lie doesn't mean it's not true." Felicity Adams
Oh, it's a fucking mad world.
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