I've been slowly working my way through Book 3 of "In Caves & Catacombs", and my characters have developed... feelings. It's strange, when a book takes on a life of its own. That neat little outline that I wrote begins to expand and contract, breaking its constraints to become something entirely different. In the case of "The City", it has evolved from a post-apocalyptic solo through the remains of Southern California to a team effort. I dare say it's becoming a bit of a romance.
Romances are hard for me to write. Not because I don't enjoy writing them, because I do. I love a good romance! But writing one is difficult because there are so many elements inspired from my personal life. Many of my characters in my writing are rather obviously inspired by my friends and family. That red-headed mermaid in Out of the Efrenen Sea? Yeah, that's me. Well--she used to be me, anyway, before she deepened enough to be a character entirely separate from my being.
You see, if I strictly wrote about myself or the other folks that inspire my characters, it wouldn't be weird. I wouldn't be paranoid about it, because truth be told, I'm a rather boring person in real life (except for the mermaid tail, but that's another story for another blog post).
My characters, on the other hand, are decidedly less boring. And when the fictional characters start to make their own decisions, I start to worry about the way their inspiration might be perceived. In my head, they become unique and completely detached from their original inspiration. But do my friends and family know that? Or are they seeing me linger in a description about the connection between April and Will, wondering if that's how my husband and I speak or interact?
To move forward, I've had to stop worrying about what people will think. There's no time for insecurity when there's a story to be told.
It's like a romantic stroll through the snow, but with fallout.
