The Prologue of the book is a true story. I remember standing on the corner of Bayard and George Streets in downtown New Brunswick, NJ, talking to Calvin, when the main idea of the book got my attention like a splattering bucket of rainwater. It wasn't raining, but the idea of a story about ghosts who weren't really dead, ie, their persona's still alive today, occurred at that moment.
I reference Frank Lloyd Wright, the architect, a few times in the book out of deference to this same practice he employed. Before searing the pencil lead onto paper, before one stroke of genius after another, all the major elements of the project were already in his head. His brain was a tuning fork with the same pitch as Nature, and he couldn't proceed until keyed into the latter.
I started to write when I organized the beginning, and the ending, and I had a "feel" for the middle ground. I decided to proceed, with a few notes I had jotted down as to structure and pace. I was excited to start testing my creativity, to maneuver through the forest of the middle pages of Ark.