The first story I ever wrote started with a simple idea. I didn’t have to write it down, the idea followed me. It followed me around for years.
When I finally took the time to write it down, it was not the catharsis I had been expecting. I wanted to see where the story would lead me, but I was frustrated with my lack of skill.
My perfectionism was raging against the mediocre plot I hammered into my old SM9. But my determination to explore the depths from which my idea had emerged was greater than my compulsion to please one of my old demons.
So I gave myself the permission to write a mediocre story. Through the process of writing, I was able to explore my idea—like exploring an old attic with a dim flashlight. My initial idea was just a fragment of what I had to write in order to get answers to the questions I had.
This place is quite similar to the endeavor I just described. I still have ideas chasing me—and I am still seeking answers. Even if it means to have old demons breathing down my neck.
I want to see what lies beneath the surface of my imagination.
This is okkultra.