I’ve been writing scenes for this manuscript for ages. Rather, the protagonist, Shay, and I have been working on it together. Shay and I met through another paper landscape, my attempt at a screenplay where her demise is the narrative’s focus but not it’s force. After publishing Almost Crimson, I’d planned to write a different story, but Shay would lean against the doorjamb and … wait. She’s revealed herself to me in slow, animation cells. Memories and moments at a time, she’s handed me the tiles for laying out her story. We haven’t been quiet together in many, many moons. All for incredible reasons. We began planning months ago for this retreat, clearing my calendar and external commitments. We needed time to sit, squirm and scribble. Or so I thought! Turns out, Shay has always known her story. Last week, she reminded me to tell her story, not simply write what had happened. We sat for several days with my chin propped in my hand, these story tiles watching me in my writing chair. This week, Shaw had me open a new blank page. She says I’m ready to begin.
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