From Dreamdarkers…

I worked feverishly as the sun continued its never-ending journey toward nightfall. When at last the damnable fire hung its summer heat just below the horizon, vermilion to the west and indigo to the east draped both ends of the sky with curtains woven by a setting star. Magenta hues separated the two extremes in that place directly above where opposites bled together. I failed to appreciate the spectacular show except in passing. With barely a glance at nature’s presentation, I murmured something about how pretty it looked before turning my attention back to the story. I would have enjoyed spending a bit of time letting the vista enrapture me and allowing my eyes to take their fill of a sky ripped in twain by vivid pigments drawn from light and dark. But neither did wishes become horses nor beggars ride, and my wanting to stop so that I might enjoy the show even for a few minutes did not mean I could stop. So I flippantly dismissed the visual feast right outside the windows. My eyes and heart would again go hungry. The trance I entered when writing often meant losing touch with the splendor surrounding the house. The nearer I came to the end of a manuscript, the more fixated I grew until becoming unaware of all but the most violative disruptions. I wondered how much life I had missed in that near-unconscious place I traveled to when my fingers and mind colluded to pen a yarn.