Mid-story, in the thick of it. Buried deep, right up where the muck seeps in and you feel the pressing of it, the enveloping workings and shapings of it.
That is right where I was, deep in the heart of two stories, I worked them in tandem, one, then the other. Two stories, from the same world.
They were different times, different people. But, together they grew.
Then.
Disaster...
A lost manuscript, a missing conduit of creating. Suddenly missplaced and gone forever.
So, the writer of age, after much deliberation, procrastination, frustration then acceptance, picked up his pen...