On June 8th, 2016, I woke up with a five book epic fantasy series exploding into my brain. I've no idea how long I stared, nor where my gaze was fixed. I only remember the images of story milestones and the physical and emotional journeys they represented. I recall being confused -- I'd never experienced anything like this in my 44 years of life. Boom.
The story's high level outline spilled out, a burst pinata spewing forth characters, scenes and plot elements. I tried to ignore it for the next two days, but I couldn't sleep. The story stayed, insistent, continuing to unfold new details. My head was crammed and I was distracted. I couldn't get anything done. Swirl.
I asked myself a critical question on June 10th: "Why don't you just write it? What's the problem with that?" My answer was, "But I'm not a writer." My lack of confidence threatened to leave me stuck with jumbled and pressing thoughts. I sought wisdom from published authors. Most of them agreed that if you write a little every day, if you say you are writing a thing and you are adding to it daily, then you are a writer. This advice would fuel my dedication later, but it did not end my initial inaction. What prompted me was simpler; an emotional appeal. I'll paraphrase the deciding counsel. If you have a story that you love, write it. Don't lose your vision of it just to please someone else. Don't worry if people say it will never be published. Tell your story. I began writing The Emris: Lost after reading that, and I have written every day since. Settle.