Yesterday I revised one of the scenes, incorporating some monologues from the ghosts about how, in life, they had been interrogated and tortured. The monologues are slight, and the revision took me less than thirty minutes, and then I went on with my busy day. But those thoughts, about torture and pain and the terrible things we do to each other, stayed in my brain and surfaced in the form of a bone-shaking nightmare last night. Today I'm useless and exhausted, and wondering why I write. But of course, I know the answer. I write because I have to, because the story jumps on my back and sinks in its claws and doesn't let go until I'm done.
And that makes me think of the Night Hags. Night Hags are the mythical creatures believed to ride us in our sleep and torment us with dark visions. Spirit possession. You see, it all comes back to ghosts, and not all ghosts are friendly.
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