I’m actually writing two pieces concurrently at the moment. They are not related, and they don’t overlap thematically except in broad terms and themes; as noted previously, it’s hard for me to write a strictly happy story. The mystery of why remains such, and I’m not going to investigate it too much. So how does writing two things at once help me keep my drive?
Midnight in Hyde Park. The hour for couples to wander aimlessly, whispering sweet nothings while clutching hands beneath the sparsely placed street lights, or predators to prowl around the fringes waiting for an unsuspecting victim – but not tonight. I stood, crushed shoulder to shoulder among a crowd of hundreds, thousands. There were no fights, no arguments, no movement. We stood there, locked in place not just by each other but by the sight we had come to behold. We were one of hundreds of other groups that had gathered across the world. Tonight, six billion people from all across the world turned their gazes upward. Not towards the heavens, not towards the stars; we stared at the moon, and the crack spreading silently across its pale, eerie surface.