Sometimes I forget how and where and why I even wrote this book–after all, I wrote it more than two years ago and have written a few more since then–and now it’s out there. Actually, that was the first question of the Examiner interviewer–how did I come to write it.
I said I wrote it for two reasons: (1) I took a creative writing class at Inprint, a great writing program in Houston. There were eleven of us in the class, an engineer, a physicist, a lawyer, a teacher, a student, etc. What inspired me is that they always wanted me to read first, to see what happened next. I wrote the intro to the book in that class, but I didn’t know it. (2) Every psychic I’ve seen, and that would be about a half dozen in the past decade, generally done with a group for fun, would ask me where my book was. Not that psychics necessarily have a corner on the truth, but by the time the sixth one asks you, you begin to wonder.
Ultimately, writing is such a private act, there’s still something shocking about it going public, even when you know it’s coming. I wrote it every night after work is the how. Generally in my second-floor Albuquerque apartment (corner of Broadway and Coal) is the where, staring out the window at downtown whenever I paused in my typing. The real answer to why is that it came and it kept coming, every time I sat down to write and sometimes in between. It still comes. I keep a notebook with me, to catch it.
Now I feel as if I’m in that dream where you’re standing naked in front of a clothed crowd, no where to run, no where to hide. Even though this must have always been the goal, I’m still a little freaked out to have achieved it. I guess I’ve jumped.