Speaking of images in my head: I also have a haunting picture in my head, and it has found its way (sort of) into my book. (I know, "Surprise!" right?) But still, having grown up close enough to the South to have actually seen several bottle trees, they do rather take root in your subconscious. If you have not been lucky enough to see one in person, then you can check out this 1930s photograph of a bottle tree taken by Eudora Welty:
|Photograph of a Bottle Tree taken by Eudora Welty, circa 1930.|
Can't you just hear those trapped spirits?
You see, there is this other part of me, a part that I hate to acknowledge, that is rather afraid of being done. This bit of me is afraid of a time when the story is on paper, all typed up, nicely edited, read and re-read, formatted, and reach to launch. Because then it is no longer mine; then it belongs to the world. As writers well know, the world can be cruel; it it is our instinct to want to protect our "baby" from all that viciousness. But the truth is that Art cannot live tucked away in the bottom drawer (or trapped on a flash drive, or hidden on your laptop), it has to be seen and breathed in and appreciated (or, perhaps just as likely, not appreciated) in order to exist.
So, I try to squelch my fears and write on...word after word, day after day. I alternate between exhilaration and dread...and I am okay with that.