I'm writing a book.

I guess it lives so long in your head, you have to let it out eventually. Let it breathe.

Back in high school, my dad would drive my sister and I over an hour each way to practice. A lot of quality time heading to and from training. For us, a lot of quality brainstorming. See, I was raised by the most creative man in the world, and what better way to spend a drive than to plot movies.

His ideas were already half-baked. Notes scribbled on his bedside table in the middle of the night, finished in the morning, shared on the evening drive into the city.

I love his mind, every part of it. And the fact he would share these fresh ideas with my sister and I, letting us build on them. It was a certain kind of creative freedom I’ve looked for ever since.

His favorite still is that of a giant, a pre-historic beast thawing in the antarctic, quickly becoming the target of militaries around the world. But, as the earth panicked, the giant tried to warn them. His resurrection was not to ruin the world as they thought - but to save it. A safety measure for global warming. He would rise and his arrival alone could save them all.

My favorite was another.

A story that has swam through my mind, and visited every corner of my notes app since I was 17. One whose scenes have been written and re-written countless times. A story of love, and loss, and a life bigger than ourselves. A question of ethics, and a scientist who dares to play god. It’s becoming this thing, this growing, breathing thing, and I can feel it creeping out of the shadows. It needs to be let out. So I’ll let it out, I’ll let it live.

I have this feeling the world has been looking for it.

xx,

Paige