I hear voices in my head. It’s okay – I’m a writer. This is how my novels and short stories are born. Of course, it’s not that simple. I have to sift through a lot of crap and noise before I find the good stuff and bring it into focus. Then it’s time to write, which brings me to the point of this post.
Don’t blame me for the words and actions of my characters. This isn’t an autobiography. It’s fiction. I may have created the story, but my characters speak for themselves. If I’ve done my job the figures in my book become flesh and blood, capable of anything. Like the parent of a wayward teen, I don’t always know what they will say or do next. I worry about them, but I can’t control them. Their actions are their own.
It doesn’t have to be that way. I could write something bland and syrupy with insipid, still-born characters that would make a department store mannequin seem lively by comparison. I could write something that would make your eyes glaze over faster than the content in an Algebra textbook. Then, if I’m smart, I could delete the whole thing and start over.
I write the story that I hear in my head. I can’t promise that my writing won’t make you angry, disgusted, or uncomfortable. I can only promise that you won’t be bored.