I've decided to finish Internet HELL, a book I started years ago. It's the story of a horrible false attack on me that started on Facebook in 2010. The story finally has a conclusion -- and so does the book. It's not the conclusion I hoped for, but it's good enough. "Justice is served" and I can write the epilogue.
The book is a factual account of the attack, preceded by a fictional back story about my likely attacker.
I've been writing professionally for over 40 years, but this is my first attempt at fiction. I am enjoying the liberty of having almost no limits. What I write must be believable, even if it's not entirely true.
This will be the third book I've published in a week, and I have four more to finish soon. Do I subconsciously think my time is running out?
This week I've been in bed from about 10pm to midnight, and then from about 6am to 8am.
That sounds ridiculous but I am driven and energized. Writing seems to be more important than sleeping. Writing and designing books seem to produce energy, rather than consume it. Weird.