Inspiration strikes at the oddest times and comes from the most innocuous sources. It’s one of those things that can’t be forced and no matter how long I sit in front of my computer pounding my head on the keyboard, I can’t make it happen. Sooo I have to accept those gifts when they come.
That said, on the way home from Blue Mountain today, I had one of those moments. The main characters and the plotline of my next book Appetites fleshed itself out in the vast emptiness of my head as I drove. To break it down for you, it was a series of ‘what-ifs’ and ‘what-nexts’ and everything seemed to just fall neatly in place. But just as with everything good, there is a but.
The book has become a much darker book than I had originally envisioned. My main character is not a nice man and writing from the ‘looking out’ side of his eyes is easier than I had thought and that scares me. I am not him and I never will be, but will the reader know that? I know I have a hyper-active imagination and apparently an innate intuition, AND I know that the character is a refection of the baseness of the male psyche, but should I be able to write him so easy?
I suppose that I shouldn’t gripe about such things as it can be viewed as how strong the writing is, but true to every writers angst, I’ll worry it like a loose tread on my sweatshirt.
Did I say the story was dark? Well, aspects of it are creeping even me out and I haven’t even written the gory parts yet. And the work to keep it authentic is mind-boggling.
Enough of my bitching and moaning, I have some writing to do and a critique group that will help ground my fears.
Digging inside people’s heads is scary stuff. Pass me the pick axe?