I have voices in my head. Given my family history of mental issues, this should be a scary phenomenon. Alas, no. The voices don’t tell me what to do so much as tell me a story. Sometimes these stories even come with pictures and a soundtrack that lay like a double exposed film on reality.Since I’ve always done this, I don’t find it disturbing.Others do.Apparently they think they should be my entire focus during a conversation:D. Oddly enough, my characters think the same thing when they talk to me. My characters tend to me more interesting, plus I have the added bonus of torturing them whereas they wouldn’t really fly at work.Of course, neither my associates or my character usually listen to me. I am merely a means to an end of most. The rest I simply scare.It’s good to be me.But wait, this blog is about writing. Yes, um, what was I saying. Oh yes, although I write plot driven novels, I do not plot. Apparently if I plot a story, my brain thinks I’ve already written it and so there is a ringing silence in my head.The same is true of the Redaction sequel. I know what it going to happen and the characters are there. They’re just murmuring indistinctly–chatting amongst themselves but not talking to me. Hence the stall of the word count. What I write gets erased because I’m writing not recording what the characters are telling me.Fortunately, I’ve found the exit in the burning building. As I approach it, their voices are becoming more distinct and the images playing before my eyes are sharpening. I just have to move a few flame-engulfed beams to reach it. You see I know where the door leads–straight to Hell.Don’t worry, I’ve packed plenty of water and I’m only visiting. Unfortunately, my characters can’t say the same thing.