I’m drifting back into the unconscious stages of my writing where it’s solely my characters and thinking of them rather than the events that have happened in my own every day life. In the course of two months it feels as though chapters have flipped before my eyes in a dizzying blur. So much has occurred. I’ve created another escape character with similar flaws to my own and beautiful perspectives in a troubled world. He’s a “recycled” character from one I had been fond of three some years ago and in being back within his skin after so long I feel that “click”; the inspiration is undying in this fresh sanctuary.