The writer’s word

Following Zero Moment, this is my second novel to be published.

I am not sure who authored it, just like with the prior one. My hands, fingers, and brain are merely writing tools, much like the computer I use, whereas the writer is something or someone else inside of me that I do not know who is, bargaining with me for a few words so that he might express himself.

Last night, as I laid in bed, in a rare moment of tranquility with both myself and the outside world, I heard that voice within me, “Hi Ahmed, we have a novel to write.”

This odd request was hard for me to understand. It baffled me!  As all of my thoughts, delusions, and insanity were already contained in what I wrote earlier.

Zero Moment ends with the promise that the second half, which has not yet been published, will be called Moment Baibars. I was not afraid to make this commitment because Moment Baibars was originally the first half of Zero Moment, and I saw that publishing Zero Moment first would serve the method of time jumps in the two novels. However, I had no idea that I would write anything else after that; not even a single word. I had already believed that I had finished.

However, it seems that someone has a different point of view…

I made an effort to ignore him and his desire so that I could get back to the momentary tranquility.

Neither a wordsmith nor a lunatic of ideas am I.

Not an author who is overly concerned with creativity and originality

Further, I’ve had enough.

Yes, I am done, and I do not want to write anything further since I have nothing to write.

“Feel up and do not worry, do not think about what you are going to write, and do not get satisfied with what you do not have, my love. Since when have I depended on you and your ideas to write anything in the first place?” he interrupted my train of thinking.

“As always, my love, you are nothing more than a translator for my words and thoughts, and I still have more tricks up my sleeve.”

Then I found myself writing “The Sect.”

The previous evening, I did not write any more than two pages of each of chapters 1 and 2  before turning in for the night.

And this morning, I thought that I would stop writing altogether. Perhaps an hour of insanity had passed, or perhaps this crazy person had tried to ruin my mood in that rare time of tranquility, and he really succeeded in doing so.

But now that I am on the second night, my head is suddenly flooded with things I have no idea about.

As it seems, trust is growing stronger between me and this lunatic; I can rely on him that he will never let me down and he can have confidence that I will continue to be the submissive servant who will translate for him what he has to say.

Ahmad I. Alkhalel