Zephomix

My flight was delayed and I was stuck at the airport without a book. But I had some paper and a crazy idea. The idea came from this book, or that show, a movie that could have been better, or a song that brought me to tears. It combined thoughts such as, "What if this had happened?" and "I wish the character had done that." 

And I started writing. I couldn't get the words out fast enough.

Then I shared it with a friend, and instead of teasing me for thinking I could write a book, she loved it. She said I should post it online. What? No! I love my story, what if other people say mean things about it? Writing was just something I was doing for fun. Like someone who doodles in a sketchbook--they aren't going to put on art show. 

I trolled Wattpad and FictionPress and read the comments. People were nice, supportive. They asked questions and gave encouragement. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

So I took a chance and hit post. And other people liked it. Strangers who weren't being nice just because they're my friends! Really, you like my story? Suddenly I couldn't wait to publish each chapter, excited to share the adventure with you. 

Now I can't stop. Before now I never once thought about trying to write a book. I hated high school English. I painfully dragged my way through each essay. I loved to read but dreaded over-analyzing books. "Maybe there's no meaning behind it. Maybe the author just lost a bet and had to put his buddy's name as the protagonist!"

Now I'm the one putting a lot of thought into names, wondering if you get the reference, find the Easter egg.  "Will they make the connection?" I wonder every time I post. 

I started writing for myself, now I'm slave to my fans.  All twelve of you. I have no plans; I'm just enjoying the process. 

Tell me your thoughts! Were you surprised? Sad? Happy? Who do you hate? Who do you dream about? How do you picture them? Bring me along your journey in this world so we can enjoy it together.