I recently dug out a story that had been sitting on my hard drive for a couple of years. Unfinished, unpolished, with a pile of notes across it, it still keeps calling me back to it. It’s part of an overall larger metaphysical anthology I’ve been working on, and… hang on, that sounded unbelievably pretentious. Is there a way to rephrase that? There is? Oh good. Here it is, then:
Obviously I’m a big fan of the Planescape-style setting, places where belief is born into flesh and creatures of unimaginable age and power struggle to etch themselves on the face of eternity. That’s what this anthology is, and those who remember Planescape will see it reverberate here.
All told, it’s a story of creation and entropy, the birth of existence (or, at least, *an* existence), its population, its growth and decay, and its inevitable end. Right now, many of the stories are still seeds. Some of them are rooted. Right now, the demon story I’m writing is the only one that is nearly done.
So why am I even talking about this now? Well, in part it’s because once I put it out there, I feel like I need to make good on it. In part, it’s because I like to start the conversation. But mostly I like imagination, and talking about the dizzy heights of astral mountains and the eternally shadowed abysses of hell-cut valleys makes me happy. The spinning-out-threads of “what if” and “could it be” is an adventure in itself.
