It starts as an image.
Of deep, dark wood and flickering candles. And then smells, sounds. Furniture polish warmed by tiny flames. The buzz of whispered secrets in hidden corners. Paris in all her quiet chaos just beyond those heavy metal-banded doors.
I can see this all so clearly, but it’s not yet ready to live. For whatever reason, the page isn’t ready for it. Or it isn’t ready for the page. Either way, it refuses, and I respect that.
So I move on, recording other sights and sounds and smells, cataloguing Martuk’s upcoming journey, often surprised by where he takes me. All of this is recorded, my thoughts filling first one page and then two, Proseuche, the sequel to Martuk … The Holy, taking form.
And then, as always, one morning I’ll open my eyes to find Martuk waiting, this tortured immortal ready, having found the courage to continue his story. Finally.
Until then, I’ll just write another movie. 🙂