I love crafting a story, watching it take greater and greater shape as I add layer upon layer. Nothing wasted, nothing in excess, just ever greater and more vital layers. In my minds eye it’s like crafting a body.

Not cell by cell, like a developing fetus, no nothing so elegant. In my minds eye it starts with the heart, the idea, muscle walls forming in a red flow of tissue that once formed beats so loud it keeps me up at night. Then the brain, the why/when/how, flowing pudding pink and glistening. The other organs follow, flopping wet, vulnerable and glistening. A cage of bone, the outline, as delicate as spun sugar starts to give it shape. Red muscle flows to hide the bones and organs, a wet tide that’s both horrific and beautiful – evisceration in reverse. The finishing touches, eyes, teeth, nails and hair and one last look to make adjustments.

My first few might have born a passing resemblance to Gumby and walked with a bit of a limp, still each creation is far more complex and complete than the piecemeal work of Victor Frankenstein. Not yet a gods work, nothing so neat and clean. Somewhat closer to Victor then, but still a bit removed.

When the wet work is done and I release my creations on the waiting masses I feel the urge to shout and laugh maniacally, “It’s alive!”