Have you ever had a story you just were compelled to write?

I don’t mean something you were told to write, or something you thought would be really fun. I mean an experience where you absolutely could not rest until you got the words and ideas out of your head and onto paper or word processor. Where something inside was driving you with inexplicable strength. Where it was always on your mind, even if that meant it was simmering somewhere in the background.

I don’t write without good motivation. Every book and short story and poem I’ve ever penned has had some significance and special interest to me. Every story I’ve told has had a reason behind it. But not until October did I experience this drive, this unrelenting constancy of needing to get a story out. In that case I rolled the details and themes and characters over in my mind until I couldn’t take it any more, then I spilled them all out in Microsoft Works and left it until I was objective enough to come back and mold it into some kind of order.

That was that. I had no particular expectation of writing another story that personal, at least for a very long time.

Then, earlier this year, I was driving along–nowhere special, I think I was going to the grocery store–and something popped into my mind. It was small. Just one idea. Not a story, not a character. Just a thought.

Over the next days and weeks and months, the something was followed by a hundred other somethings. I didn’t intend to start writing anything new, so I just jotted down a few specific thoughts I couldn’t shake in a note on my phone. You know, just so I wouldn’t forget.

Still, the story wouldn’t leave me alone. It was only half-formed–really not even half. Barely a quarter. And I was supposed to be focusing on the Firmament series. And I’m having a baby. I really don’t have time for this right now.

But it was unrelenting. I thought–and continue to think–about it every day. Adding bricks and mortar slowly to the growing structure of the piece. I finally couldn’t take it any more and I started to write.

I still only have a few pages. I still don’t have a comprehensive idea of what exactly the story will be and there are many missing parts. And I’m still working on Firmament and having a baby. I don’t know when or if I’ll publish this, or if it will be meaningful to anyone other than me.

I just know that I can’t not write it. It’s something that my soul is insisting on expelling–something that I am required to communicate in some form.

I doubt I’ll share much about this story in the process–like I said, it’s very personal. And I don’t know how slowly or how quickly it will go. But I wanted to at least share with you where I am right now. It’s a little frustrating on some level–but it’s also a really cool feeling in its own way. To almost have no say in the matter–to just know that this is something that you must do.

The feeling of being led.