Fifteen months. Sixty-three weeks. Four-hundred forty-one days. Since I set out to write the new book.
For this installment of the Artania Chronicles I decided to push myself in new directions. No longer would my heroes spend long days in that art-created world pursuing a near impossible task. This time they would pop in and out without notice. Alex and Bartholomew would be in the middle of battling a raging fire or a clawed monster when, poof, they’d be transported.
To a place strange and unknown.
Disoriented, Bartholomew would cling to something solid while Alex dashed to The Thinker’s aid. Neither knowing if anything they were doing would help this imperiled land.
And so it went.
I researched Paris and Impressionists. Made lists of symbols. Spoke with teens near the age of my heroes. Tried to remember what it was like to navigate those early days of high school.
Slowly my outline turned into pages. And pages to chapters.
Now, I’m nearly done. But there is a battle to write.
And it’s time to sculpt some scenes in my mind.