I’ve always been able to visualize stories in my head. Original ones from my mind or from stories I’ve read. One of my earliest memories of visualizing stories is looking out the backseat window as my parents drove down the road. We were on a stretch called the ridge, since bypassed by a highway. The ridge alternates between steep drops and hills. Both topographic features were heavily wooded. As we wound around the curves, between trees I saw a battleground filled with witches and wizards, casting and dodging spells. This was late 90s, before Harry Potter made it to the screens.
In college, I would start writing a story in class and never finish it. One day in class I started writing a horror story about a little boy who murdered his parents. That was all I had. I worked on this for a few periods before giving it up, moving on to another one.
The urge to write hit me at home one day, and the horror story floated to the top of my mind. I hadn’t kept what I’d previously written, so I started from scratch on my laptop. Worked on it for about a week. But I didn’t delete it. I added to it sparingly over the course of a few years, during which time I added parts about Satanic possession. I still didn’t know where I was going with it though.
Fast forward through a bunch of life changing events, including another college degree, a move and depression. I decided to give writing a legitimate shot. I picked my story back up and worked on it. Serious writing. Dedicated time. Then I hit a wall.