Is there such a thing as being over inspired as an author?
I sit here on an island in the middle of the Ionian Sea, bathed in the golden glow of an early summer sun.
Mountains glower down on me on the left. I can almost feel them reading over my shoulder, sniffing in judgement as I write.
To my right is the sea; calm, flat, inviting, beckoning me into its embrace like a impatient lover.
In the distant horizon lies the spectre of the mainland, hazed and ephemeral; now there, now gone.
I wonder is it is those shadow lands that wander or we? What gods and monsters and heroes wait on those distant shores? Maybe if I could drag my mind away from such distractions, I might get back to my own world.
Alytheia has its own ancient myths after all. I just need to invent them...