So The Question Is...

[mmerriam]

Despite my plans, I found myself mugged by a shiny new short story that demanded it leap over the queue and be written right now, thank you very much.

I'm a little over five hundred words in and my brain suddenly realized that I was doing things I had never tried before as a writer. Things with voice, and language, and tense, and perception. I've wondered off into new, weird, uncharted waters.

And then I stopped cold.

So the question is: what stopped me? Is it that I've overreached what I'm capable of as a writer? Or is it just raw naked fear of wandering off into the unknown?

I'm going to go for a walk and see if I can sort myself out.

Peace,
Michael