I haven’t been writing much fiction lately because life got in the way. To write well, one must be focused on what they are creating, but I’ve been terribly distracted monitoring the construction of our retirement home. Spectral Gallows, my latest Maxx Watts novel, which is due out this fall, may be delayed because I was severely late in approving the final draft. In my defense, our builder sucked the life out of my wife and me. Somehow we managed to survive.
Now that our house is finished and we are getting settled, murderous musings literally come to mind – as in how to kill a builder, and whether to bury him or make him part of the foundation. In this regard, fiction writing remains wonderful therapy. Whether I write Building is Murder remains to be seen, but I cannot stop these thoughts from needling my brain.
The benefit of life’s experiences is they broaden our perspective and provide us with tremendous character development. Tangles with builders, subs, and spouses spark countless ideas for stories, settings and conversations. You cannot put a price on that. Even so, writing shouldn't be about getting even. To live that way means the bastards win, and I never want that.
Neighbors who have gone through similar problems said it takes two weeks to stop being pissed off. I’m well past that two week mark and have yet to let go, but I’m getting there. It’s only a matter of time before we are unpacked and have landscaping. No doubt our house will grow on us once we hang some art work and stop to smell the roses.
Lately, my computer has been my Jiminy Cricket, keeping me sane. After letting me pound its keyboard in anger, it will stare back at me and say, “There – feel better? Now purse your lips together and blow.” Suddenly, I’m whistling while I work. Ah, yes. Plotting murder can be fun . . .