Completed manuscript.
No One Dreams in Color is my sixth novel. I never take for granted the completion of a novel, nor do I ever know which one could be my last. It always begins witth a few key ideas or concepts, several core refrains, and from there it becomes an enterprise of faith, intution, trust, consistency of discipline, and curiosity. I relish the process, and have found that each novel, as a soverign entity, demands its own form and set of principles. In the case of No One Dreams in Color, I experienced the joy and intrigue of wandering wide-eyed through a mutable labyrinth; a labyrinth that I was simulatenously creating, and being created by. I am happy, and somewhat relieved to have made it out of the labyrinth, yet I am also feeling wistful and sad that I am no longer there, wandering, with that exquisitely lonely sense of purpose which is my favored bliss.
When I was a boy, my dream was to be a writer, to write stories and books that I could share with the world. That little boy in me still burns with the same sense of quest, and love’s labor for the world of story. I am grateful for and to my vocation. Word by word, novels come into irrefutable being.
Rock on, creators. Rock on.