As a writer I sometimes struggle to write and other times it just falls out of me. Sometimes I wonder where what I write about comes from. I know I make a calculated plan – the skeleton or bones – of an idea but then the flesh just layers upon it, creating the monster. The words used, the feelings created and the imagery perceived is what the end goal is.
A new character with a new idea of the world and what it owes them or what they must pay to live in my book, emerges. I know the title, I know her, I know her story. I would like to share this journey with you too. The beginning of gods’ daughter…..
© Kait King, 2015
Gingerly I type the words, wondering if I may be the only person who thinks like this. god’s daughter is turning out to be more appalling than horrific, more repulsive than disgusting. I can feel her like black tar in my mind. She calls me to write her out – to layer her like a black wedding cake, all the details – the spiders, the webs, the cockroaches, the mould and dusty aura of her mind. The corners of her life are all in shadow, a shadow I have to be brave enough to step into and feel the darkness that is god’s daughter. She wants to be created but she doesn’t want me – I am nothing to her, just like everyone else.
And she is nothing like me…