I cannot get that novel I am thinking about writing out of head. It keeps wanting to get told and it keeps nagging me to write some of it down. I wrote the opening today, at least it feels like the opening to this novel. I will definitely put a scene in the novel involving listening to Mozart's Requiem for the Dead live in a church. This character has lots of catholic school girl religious guilt, lot of strange catholic school religious horror fantasies of the religious statues coming to life, listening to God's voice. Kind of like Emily Watson in that movie "Breaking the Waves". I think writing about a person's views about god and religion is so subversive, so perverse, so damaging, so un-PC and so much more interesting than any other controversial object out there.

Following in the Dark - opening paragraph.

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Pain is an odd thing. I like pain, physical pain. Emotional pain I can do without. Emotional pain tortures you 24/7. You can’t drink yourself out of it, you can’t watch TV yourself out of it, you can’t play music loud enough and long enough to drown it out. It’s an endless voice that drones on and on. That scene that keeps replaying over and over and over in your head. You know, like at Friday evening Easter mass when you do Stations of the Cross. But it’s like Stations of the Cross every day in my head. That’s emotional pain. But physical pain … ah the beauty and ecstasy of physical pain is it has a beginning and an end point. You know when it stops and you can pretty much tell when it ends. Finite pain. All those philosophers I read in school were wrong about infinity. Finite is definitely better at least for pain. And physical pain is really the only thing that stops emotional pain. It’s a displacement thing, one pain replacing another. But physical pain has its price like everything else in this world. Was it worth the price? After everything that happened, I don’t know. You be the judge.

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