Sorry for my prolonged absence from this blog. I could blame it on the new puppy or the busy holiday season, but that’s not entirely accurate. The truth is, I’ve been a little paralyzed by fear. Never a good thing. In this case, the fear of doing something wrong. I should listen to my sister more (God help me if she reads this). She keeps telling me just to write for myself and for the simple pleasure of my own creative outlet. She’s been boldly sharing her own creative side since long before it occurred to me to have one, so she should know.
Then I remembered my original purpose for this site. It’s a place for the voices in my head to come out and play, which is also the point of my writing. I don’t know if this is “normal” (perhaps that’s another fear I need to leave behind), but I’ve always spent a lot of time mentally escaping into my own stories. As a kid, people used to accuse me of being a hermit because I spent so much time off on my own. But I wasn’t alone in my head. I was on tour with my own rock band, or off saving the world from some sinister bad guy. It was the sort of mental escape you get from a book, but I never needed the book. The story is more fun if I control it. If you’re a Game of Thrones fan (as I am), you can imagine Bran, stuck in his tree. Physically, he’s not doing anything, but in his head, he’s everywhere. That was me. That is me.
My latest escape has been to the town of Burlau, somewhere in Germany. Don’t bother looking it up on a map, you won’t find it there. But if you’re the sort of person who needs a reference point in reality, then I suppose Burlau is a combination of The Brocken and Lauscha. Most of the inhabitants are nice enough, but history and politics conspire to alter the essence of who they are. Some manage to remain true to themselves and suffer the consequences. Others fall victim to peer pressure or personal ambition. A few others must escape, or die.
It might seem like a grim refuge for a mental escape, but it does keep me interested, as I hope it will you.