If a tree falls in the woods and there is no one around to hear it, does it make any sound?
If a writer isn’t writing is he still a writer?
Those are stupid questions. The point I’m trying to get to is that Jack Mackenzie has not done a whole lot of writing lately. The problem with Jack is that he is only one half of the person otherwise known as M. D. Jackson, who is trying to convince the world that he is an artist.
M.D. Jackson has been writing for the AMAZING STORIES website. He writes an article every week. He should be writing one right now, but Jack has taken over just for now.
I have a lot of stories floating around in my head. Most writers do. Some stories are vague, half-formed ideas. Some are just images. But some are becoming very fully developed. Like the one about Roman occupied Briton, a captured Roman soldier named Maximus Decius and a Briton whom he befriends named Donal Donaleigh and a tribe of warriors who may or may not be supernatural entities called up from the earth by a deranged and vengeful druid.
Or the one about an investigator for Whitehall in the late Victorian Era named Emory Beech who finds himself trying to end a clandestine war between rival wizards and finds an unexpected ally in a strange and mysterious woman who calls herself Saffron but whose real name is Sandra Frene. Or is it?
Or the one about Bradik, a wily sword for hire who has taken a job to retrieve some property for a wealthy client — said property being a half-blind seeress who can read the future.
And there are the abandoned projects which must be finished. I have five decent chapters of a sixty-thousand word New Pulp novel which is screaming to be finished. And, as anyone who has bothered to read this blog knows, there is the unfinished prequel to my novel The Mask of Eternity. The Price of Redemption is here on this blog, unfinished — cut off in mid-stream. Honestly, there ain’t no more of it. It just fizzled out. I need to relight the fire under that one for sure.
There’s lots of others and there’s not a lot of time to write them all down. Actually, that’s not true. There’s time… there’s always time if you know where to look for it… but the inclination is not there. Being M. D. Jackson takes different mental “muscles” than being Jack Mackenzie. My writing muscles — my fiction writing muscles — are weak and flabby and need to be worked out.
So, M.D. Jackson, I think you’ve had control of the muscles for too long. I think Jack will be taking over.
Watch this space.