A curious activity since my father’s death while looking into his military history became something of a hobby. Piecing together elements of his family history had never been a topic of discussion as adults, and somehow filling the gaps has drawn me into the topic that might just propel me to completing a book.
These various elements of his life, my life and that of my family then has this circuit board with which to examine prior family history, and relate their narratives, never captured, but deserving to be told.
I can’t be hogtied by actual history. It can’t be “historical,” or even in the genre of “historical novel.” We live our lives based upon our internal field, how we perceive what we see in the field, and not by the field. As human beings, we normally react; if we are lucky, we are proactive and take part in the energy that brings about change, and we do not simply observe it. Still, we are not what we create in this respect, and we are not simply players upon some field captured in a moment in time. We are, and we share this same element of being.
These arcs then can actually intersect as they are woven through time, because of this very human element. We are always the same beings. Same verb, same noun, shared.
I have recently read of the authors of several successful books, when faced with a daunting task of writing a book, who were told, well, write a series of short stories, and they will tie themselves together. So, this is the way I’ll proceed.
Ok, who’s up first? 🙂