Like a lot of kids, I dreamed about flying. But it was never the actual “floating over the neighborhood” part that captured my imagination, looking down at everyone and waving. No, it was the sense of acceleration. The feeling of moving fast enough, with enough force, to defy the elemental pull of gravity. To leave the ground beneath you and rocket skyward. That was the key. That ethereal feeling of firing up the engine of something powerful enough to take you away.
Recently, I was talking to someone about this exact feeling, and I realized that for me, now, that feeling comes from writing. For him, it’s skydiving. “There’s nothing like the feeling of flying,” he said. (“Actually, you’re not flying,” I pointed out, “You’re falling. It’s the opposite.” But I digress.)
That flying feeling — that’s what I’ve got right now. Right at this moment.
I’m working on a new book.
And although I can’t reveal any details just yet, it’s the kind of concept that sends shivers down my spine. It’s a story that, when I pitch it to friends, they get that look in their eyes that tells me they’re “seeing” the story unfold. And since I’ve finally nailed down exactly what the story is about, it seems to be writing itself.
At least, that’s how it feels. Effortless. Powerful. Like I’ve just flipped the ignition on something that’s moving under its own power. I’ve lifted my feet up off the ground, and I’m rocketing skyward.
And I’m not planning on landing anytime soon.