I never really understood writer's block. There are so many different definitions. For me, it sounds like the writer ran up against a big blank wall and they simply can't write their way around it. I've never had much of a problem with the issue. The closest thing that qualifies are the minor stumbling blocks of how do I get my character from point A to point B. But, where a straight path won't do, a crooked path will, and sometimes my character has to go way around the issue to get to point B and beyond.
Where do you come up with the ideas for your next book? When you finish with the manuscript that has consumed all your free time for months if not years, what do you do next? This too is no problem for me. I give myself a rest for a day or two, or as long as I can stand it, and then I go to my 'Ideas' folder and pick one to work on. Where do these ideas come from? You may laugh, but I have really quite vivid dreams and many of my current manuscripts were generated from them in one way or another. Ever since I have started to jot those dreams down, I have accumulated over 25 assorted scenes and ideas. Some of them have seen some development, but most of them are merely the dream as I've been able to paint it on the paper.
Images, information and knowledge can sometimes be difficult to convey into words but I do my best. Last night was one of those nights. I was woken at around 4:30 rather abruptly after feeling a knife rammed into my back. There was no going back to sleep after that, so I got up and wrote down the dream. For your enjoyment, here it is. It needs a little fleshing and maybe some names, but then it's only an idea at this point. I look forward to your comments.
As man expanded into space they left their fantasies and fairytales behind, or at least they thought they did until they ran across a race that called themselves Pixies. That wasn’t exactly the right word, but it was as close as the human tongue could get to pronouncing it.
Pixies were the embodiment of playful trouble, and like their ancient namesake, they could accomplish thievery and pranks of all sorts with a sprinkling of pixie dust and a mischievous giggle. It was because of pixies that humans developed jetpacks that guided with a mere thought and eye lenses that saw into the infrared as well as sound waves.
Pixies, however, were a small agile people, and even with such advancements, catching them was nearly impossible. Pixies were like small children that had been stretched. They were fine boned to the point of looking fragile, and yet lithe and tough like a cat. Their pointed ears and slanted purple eyes completed the picture, making anyone who saw them wonder about the truth of fairytales.
Three men chased three pixies across a planetary landscape, the pixies always just within sight, their giggles leading the men on. These pixies had raided the same outpost many times. Their pranks were never life threatening, and what had been stolen had always been recovered eventually, usually undamaged, but such impunity had to be stopped, and so the chase covered miles each time.
The chase came to a river, as each man burst from the underbrush, a pixie giggled, sprinkled a pinch of sparkling pixie dust, and created a tiny speeder and leapt off into the sky, the human in hot pursuit. The third pixie waited for a second longer, watching, smiling, as her pursuer came close. Then she turned to dive into the water, feigning a near stumble. This time she’d let him catch her; she had long hungered to feel his strong arms around her. She was the reason the raids had gone on for so long. He was the reason she kept coming back.
She got her wish. His jets on full thrust, he caught her in midair. Spinning, he kept her from escaping into the water. She wrapped her arms around him and her legs too. She buried her face in his neck feeling the course stubble of his unshaven chin and the hot pulse in his neck. She pulled herself as close as she could, a hand feeling up the back of his neck, her fingers finding their way into his sweaty hair.
She made a grave mistake though. She didn’t understand human anger. Furious beyond reason, the man ended the chase by plunging a knife into her back. Only then did the man realize all the things that had gone before. She tipped her head back and looked up at him, her mouth open in surprise, now rimmed with blood, her purple eyes gone dark with confusion.
“Why did you let me catch you?”
She gasped a wet breath. “Because I love you.” And then she went limp.
He pulled the knife out and threw it away, then he hastily brought them back to the sandy riverbank, giving no thought to a safe landing, they tumbled and rolled, her limp body clutched in his arms, tears causing the sand to stick to his face.
They had only just come to rest when he heard a wailing cry from above. He spotted one of the other pixies streaking in to land with a sparkle of pixie dust as his speeder vanished, leaving him running across the sand toward them without so much as a bump.
He knelt down beside them as the man attempted to disentangle himself from the fragile creature he had just killed. The pixie touched the blood on her back and looked up at the man. “What have you done?”
The man could only shake his head. One by one, the others landed and gathered around as the pixie produce a small pouch in a shower of pixie dust, and from it sprinkled red pixie dust onto the wound. “If she will live for another minute, she may still survive,” he said as he carefully straightened her limbs and lovingly fingered her hair into order.
She opened her eyes to the glow of a campfire. A soft blanket was tucked up under her chin and around under her head and she felt hot. Sitting across the fire from each other was the slight pixie and the man.
For the first time in her life, she felt a profound sorrow. The pixie loved her with all of his heart. She knew this to the depths of her soul. But she had flirted with a human - a match that could never be.
She rolled over and sat up, pushing the blanket away and breathing in the cool night air. Off to the side she spotted the pile of plunder they had taken this time. The game was done; it wasn’t fun any more. At her movement both men looked at her; the others had already left. She went to the pile and with a wave of her hand and a scattering of sparkling pixie dust that lit the pile for a moment, she added her plunder to it.
The men’s eyes never left her, she had to choose and there really was only one choice. She went and stood beside her childhood friend, resting a hand on his shoulder. She gazed across the flames at the human she’d been able to touch just once. “We won’t bother you again.”
The human stood, as did the pixie; their standoff would not easily pass. “I’m sorry.”
The pixie turned to lead her away but she hesitated. With a parting sigh she said, “Blood is a time for sadness.” Then she followed her companion into the darkness.
The man watched them go, the thin moonlight making them possible to follow only because of their motion, then there was a brief burst of pixie dust sparkles, and they were gone.