I Need To Write, And I Can't

Rob Horton, The Main Character Of The Tiger Rising, Was A Secondary Character In An Adult Short Story I Wrote, And He Wouldn't Go Away After I'd Finished The Short Story. I Couldn't Figure Out What He Wanted, So I Wrote To Find Out.

So Here I Am, Sending A Two-ounce Mouse Down Into A Dungeon With A Sewing Needle To Save A Human Princess, And I Don't Know How In The World He's Going To Do It. I Have No Idea. That Was The First Time It Occurred To Me That Writing The Story Was Roughly Equivalent To Despereaux's Descent Into The Dungeon. I Was Tremendously Aware Of That As I Was Writing. I Thought, "i Have To Be Brave Or Else I'm Not Going To Be Able To Tell It." But It's The Only Way That I Can Write. If I Know What's Going To Happen, I'm Not Interested In Telling The Story.

The Story Is Not A Pretty One. There Is Violence In It. And Cruelty. But Stories That Are Not Pretty Have A Certain Value, Too, I Suppose. Everything, As You Well Know (having Lived In This World Long Enough To Have Figured Out A Thing Or Two For Yourself), Cannont Always Be Sweetness And Light.

Every Morning For, I Don't Know How Long, I Came Over To Alison's [mcghee] House And We Sat In Her Office And Wrote The Stories "out Loud" Together. We Yelled At Each Other And Made Each Other Laugh. It Was A Lot Of Fun.

How Will The World Change If We Do Not Question It?