The Fine Line

I have always considered the line between writer and full on schizophrenic to be delicate. I think the only difference may be that the writer makes money (theoretically) from his hallucinations, while a schizo is victimized by them. At any rate, it is a jagged-edged gift, to be born with the power to create people and then to listen to them constantly speaking to you in your head.

My characters grow restless. Winter is the hardest time of year for writing, I think, though there are plenty of people that would say that is just an excuse. I don't make the time for them so they find ways to insinuate themselves into my day, even if it is just a flash of a scene I see for a brief moment. I know they are always there, always watching, always waiting for their moment to come out and breathe onto the paper. I hold them back in a way, even as I give them the chance to live. Their lives depend on me, on my dedication to giving it to them, and it's understandable that they get a little anxious when I don't show them the proper respect. They are calling me now, living in scenes behind my eyelids and threatening to disappear forever if I don't write them down.