We’re driving down from the hills in the summer heat, the valley a green haze below us, the Sutter Buttes in the distance. My hand is resting on your arm, all angles and smooth skin sliding onto your wrist, my scars and your freckles. Our respective pedigrees, the gifts our families left for us, laid out on our flesh.
There’s a gay man singing through our stereo, I cry along, needing his rich wail to bring me down, hold me here, in this moment, with you. He sings of a Gay Messiah, and I feel the irony in my core, sending chills in the summer heat. How beautiful this world is, how far we’ve come, how much further we have to go.
I think about how timid I am with my words now, how the years have stemmed the flood yet made the waters no less fierce. My frustration leaves me tongue tied, there is so much I have to say, but I feel so small and irrelevant.
Published in September of last year and written by Hugo Award Nominee (and Doctor Who writer), Paul Cornell, Witches tells the story of a small town torn apart by magic and change.
When the Supermarket company of Sovo seeks entry into the rural community of Lychford, locals are split between the much needed job offers and the desire to keep their town unaffected by modern development. What most people of the town don’t realize is that Lychford rests at a crossroads, a place where parallel worlds of all kinds meet and are accessible, and Sovo plans will tear open the barriers from those worlds, allowing entry into our own.
I know how my story ends.
I knew from the beginning and while the main events of the story have shifted, shrunk, morphed and grew, the end has always been a relative constant.
That is, until I got to the end of the second act of my second draft and realized what I wrote has changed the requirement for the beginning, thus changing the results of the end. Some things remain unchanged, who will be there and what will be used, for instance. But what must be said, well, that’s where I am floundering.