It's strange the way an obsession can enter into one's mind and try to take root. I've been watching ANGELS IN AMERICA all week-end, repeatedly, and it remains my all-time favourite film. When I watch it I am fill'd with heartache and a potential for hope. The film makes me regret the many wretched mistakes that I have made in life, & yet recognize that my errors and stupidity have helped to shape the person I am now, and that I can see them as brutal stepping stones to maturity and a kind of wisdom.
The writer in me is so enchanted with the film that I am fill'd with an ache to write a "definitive" angel story. I have used angels in two or three of my tales (that I recall), but as I dwelt on the idea to-night it seem'd, more and more, a stupid idea, because I wanted to portray a typical angelic thing, with wings and all; & the traditional angel is, in fiction, as tired an idea as the romantic vampire. Still, ye idea is there, gnawing at me potently; so perhaps I can change the idea into that of a creature resembling a harpy or some such. Or maybe I shall simply shrug ye idea off and forget it, and simply dream about such a beast and the kind of influence it may have over me.
Of course, being a Latter-day Saint, I believe in angels absolutely.