I’m starting to sweat.
With each line that shows up on the screen, with each thought that crosses my mind, I’m starting to worry.
And not worry with a lower case ‘w.’ The big Worry. The capital ‘W’ that puts a damper on so many aspects of our lives.
And right now, that Worry is here with me. It’s a dark shadow in the room. A cold presence leaning over my shoulder, making sure that I write exactly what I’m supposed to, even when I’m not sure what that is.
I know how the story ends, of course. But I don’t know for certain how we’re going to get there. It’s a bit like your GPS going on the fritz, telling you to turn left when there’s no left to turn onto.
But you turn left anyway, because you know you must. You’re compelled to.
I’m Worried about what might happen to the characters. Will they be injured? Will they even make it out of this book alive?
I’m not too concerned about Stefan. He’s … well, let’s say he’s a great many things that we shouldn’t speak of in polite company. And if he gets injured I won’t feel for him.
Not the way we feel for Tom or Victor. I’m afraid for them, of what might happen to them, and how they might change.
You see, Tom and Victor, they’re ours. The ones we root for, the ones we hope will overcome all their odds.
But that dark shadow, that cold presence in the room with me, even as I write this, it’s saying, Let me tell you, you may not want to get too attached to anyone.
Death is walking through the Holman Trailer Park, and that scythe of his? Well, let’s just say it’s swinging.