I. Author. 008

 It was the third time I rewrote the same prologue that had shown so much promise at first. To me anyway.
  The idea was simple and I didn't think myself very clever when I employed it. Life, for any of us, is a roller coaster full of ups and downs, twists and turns, and sometimes it feels like our carts collide into a rock wall, but it goes on. The ride doesn't stop until time runs out and no one knows when that is.
   Narrating the thoughts of a character did not work. I then decided to let the character own the story, but none of it worked in a male voice. 
   The thought of writing in a female voice was venturing out into unknown territory and a major risk, but I heeded the compulsion if only to prove once and for all I was better off dedicating my time to other endeavors.
    ...we even ride headlong into the dark tunnels of the unknown, taking for granted we'll see light at their end...
   At that point, an image of a long haired brunette with with a grayish gaze full of a mix of longing and regret, registered in my head. She sat at a window seat, staring at the rain. Her arms were crossed over her knees. 
   The image slowly gained texture, color; even the scent of some aromatic candle tickled my nostrils. When I started typing the last paragraph, a soft voice tinted with a British accent spoke in my head.
   ...I had no idea of the roller coaster I was about to ride. Once that cart was in motion I didn't know where, or how, to make it stop...
   No one wanted to know where this girl was going with this more than I.
   Thus the ride began. I gave this girl a name and it felt like I'd introduced myself to a new friend with a hug. Samantha and I rode the twists and turns together. We climbed, we dropped. The entire contraption fell apart around us, and she led me back to the cart after we worked to the bone to put it back together. We had to finish this ride.
   Chapters into the story, Character003 earned a name. No one could've predicted Lewis Jonathan Bettford would go on to charm readers enough to become a favorite. I was more than a little surprised when I found myself writing his story much later on.
   The first draft of Untitled001 was an emotional explosion that threatened to make me lose touch with reality. I spent entire nights virtually walking the streets of London and arguing with my characters. I'd tell Samantha not to be daft and she'd call me a bloody arse, and we'd go on filling pages after pages.
   I modeled characters after people I'd known just like I did when I rewrote the Christmas story when I was a kid.(1) 
   I spent hours and hours reading words but seeing images of places where I'd never been just like I did when I read my first real novel.(2) 
   I kept my feet grounded on reality despite the fact I was writing fiction. I did not want to produce a sensationalized story like some I read in school.(3) 
   I somehow added tributes to nurses, to soldiers, to the people who lived through 9/11, hoping I'd touch another person's soul like I did for my mom when I wrote her a mother's day letter.(4) 
   I remained true to the emotions of each of my characters just like I did for the hypothetical Private Robayo from my sixth grade paper.(5) 
   I pulled out all the stops by digging deep and coloring love scenes with hues born of memories, heartaches, triumphs, and feelings I never forgot.(6) 
   I'd come full circle after taking the dare and writing my own story.(7)
   I admit I cried, I hurt, I watched helplessly as Samantha ran herself into brick walls and cheered when she managed to get back up. 
   I'll tell you something else. Samantha's story had no title until one of her last conversations at the end. Most people find that hard to believe, but it's true. When I finally spotted the title, I could hear her voice (and yes, I realize this makes me sound nuts) in my mind saying: "It's about bloody time, Mister Author, by George!" 
   I'll never forget the moment I typed in the last word of The Gaze. I was on a cruise ship somewhere in the deep blue waters of the Atlantic, heading back to Port Canaveral. It was early, barely 7am. I'd finished drafting my first novel, but I hope I never know how to make this roller coaster ride stop. 
   After feeling lost most of my life, I gained an identity.
   After working to work, I learned what my purpose in life is.
   After writing that last page, I realized what it is I love to do.
   I. Author.

   Javier A. Robayo 

   Thank you for taking this little side trip with me. We can't always see where we're going if we forget where we come from. That's what drove me to remind myself how IT happened. And now, I leave you to finish up the next novel. I'm anxious to see where this one takes me...

   Missed one of the I. Author. Blog Series? Here are the links:
   (1)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/03/i-author-001.html
   (2)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/03/iauthor002.html
   (3)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/03/i-author-003.html
   (4)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-author-004.html
   (5)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-author-005.html
   (6)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-author-006.html
   (7)http://outofthemindofjavierrobayo.blogspot.com/2013/04/i-author-007.html