So last Saturday 28th sucked beyond the telling and yet here I am telling it. It was probably the scariest night of my life in a looooong time! It ended up only (only?) being a viral infection but trust when i say I thought I was dying. Chris thought I was dying. The entire ER crew thought I was dying. I collapsed after a nap, who does that? with intense vertigo and nausea and grossness. Oddly, I have been working with Marc on Mo-mo and we’ve been talking about facing with your own mortality.
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Ok I don’t usually post about how stoopid I am but I’d like to remember this moment should I ever finish this cool idea I have. I was writing a short story, might continue, about a few characters being tortured by monsters. They discover that the only reason for their torment is to create pain which is needed to fuel a spell to locate a magickal tool. Cool huh? Ok I guess I’ll finish it. BUT I had this cool idea to have them pray. Which became a whole story about a war and evil sorcerer all told through prayer. Book of Prayers was born. I love writing prayers. I love creating deities, forces and primal energies and setting them in the hands of villagers. ANYWAY to do all of this I have to, of course, know where the story takes place. Like where the fuck are they? So I start creating a continent or island on which they can roam and battle. When suddenly (ha ha ha) I realize I have no concept of space.