Thursday, June 1, 2017
Monday, September 9, 2013
Third-Blood, Twitter, and Geekly Musings
It's been over a year since my last post, and I'm going to stick with the story that I was writing two novels and they got the best of me. The Crossroads Chronicles is on hiatus. I felt it best to focus on a shorter, less intricate but no less fun and interesting work that could stand alone as a short story, perhaps a novella. Of course, this is me we're talking about and that short/story novella rapidly expanded into a novel, which rapidly expanded into the first in a series of probably three. Probably.
This novel, Third-Blood, is a YA urban fantasy novel that could most succinctly be described as Spider-Man meets A Midsummer Night's Dream. The first draft was completed back in the spring, and I'm currently revising it for submission.
I've also gotten work at Den of Geek U.S., courtesy of my old buddy and fellow comics geek, Mike Cecchini, the managing editor. I contribute content once a week or so. I'm currently working on a series of articles exploring the themes of Power Rangers as well as weekly review and analysis of The Legend of Korra. And on the side, I'm working on an essay that's been over a decade in the making: the thematic and structural parallels between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Sailor Moon. It's fun stuff, folks. Check it out.
Also of note, I've finally been dragged into the world of Twitter, so you can find me @Michael_Mammano for more concise updates on my writing and current projects. I avoided it for as long as I could, but what the hell. I can either be a part of the entertainment world or not.
That's all for now, folks. Keep checking in!
This novel, Third-Blood, is a YA urban fantasy novel that could most succinctly be described as Spider-Man meets A Midsummer Night's Dream. The first draft was completed back in the spring, and I'm currently revising it for submission.
I've also gotten work at Den of Geek U.S., courtesy of my old buddy and fellow comics geek, Mike Cecchini, the managing editor. I contribute content once a week or so. I'm currently working on a series of articles exploring the themes of Power Rangers as well as weekly review and analysis of The Legend of Korra. And on the side, I'm working on an essay that's been over a decade in the making: the thematic and structural parallels between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Sailor Moon. It's fun stuff, folks. Check it out.
Also of note, I've finally been dragged into the world of Twitter, so you can find me @Michael_Mammano for more concise updates on my writing and current projects. I avoided it for as long as I could, but what the hell. I can either be a part of the entertainment world or not.
That's all for now, folks. Keep checking in!
Sunday, July 1, 2012
The Y.A. Curse
Yesterday, I finished my revisions on Fall Semester, which covers about 50-60% of the novel. In MS Word, the page count, double-spaced, came out to 325 pages. I realize this is a decent size for an entire book, and in fact, rather long for a Y.A. book.
So my brother remarks on how 600-650 pages would be really long for a first-timer, Y.A. novel. And he's not wrong. This, of course, led him to bring up the topic of editors and how the editor would, and I quote, "rape the shit out of it."
Again, he's not wrong. From the point I hit 100 pages, I knew that this book was going to be a doorstopper. I knew it. I also knew it probably wouldn't be the first book I published. None of this bothered me. I had long since braced for it.
And then my brother (whom I would like to preface this by saying is a very cool, very intelligent guy) made a suggestion that blew right past stupid and crash-landed deep within the boundaries of offensive. He asked if perhaps I might consider just splitting the book in half and publishing Fall Semester as its own novel.
Now, most people would be hard-pressed to see what's so offensive about that suggestion, and I can see why. After all, it was offered in kindness, the proposal of an alternate strategy for the purpose of helping to ensure my success. I recognize that and all the love that motivated it. That doesn't change what else was behind that suggestion, so allow me to spell it out to all the non-writers out there.
By asking if I would consider this option, my brother must first have entertained the idea that it was even possible. Now, let's take a closer look at the reasoning behind that. As any high school student should be able to tell you (though I can't guarantee this, given the current state of the American educational system), every story has a structure, in its most primal form, beginning, middle, and end. Even in non-linear storytelling, the part you see at the end, regardless of where it comes in the chronology, is at the end for a reason. It's the big reveal or that new context that suddenly puts everything into perspective. It's what the story builds up to. Hence, if you split a story in the middle, you don't get the end. You get half the story and a major case of narrative blueballs.
Right about now, someone out there will be wondering where cliffhangers fit into all this. That's a whole other conversation, and all I will say on the matter is that cliffhangers are a certain type of ending; unresolved, but still an ending. After a cliffhanger, if you're going, "Damn that was a kick-ass story and I'm dying to know what happens next," that is the correct response. If your reaction is more along the lines of, "Wait... what, what... whoa whoa whoa... that's it?" then the writer failed.
So, getting back on track here, the suggestion of splitting the story implies that ending isn't important, that the climax of the story does not stand out enough from the rest of the narrative to be of any immediate value to the reader and that he or she would be just as satisfied stopping halfway through as they would getting to the end. So, what this sentiment basically implies is that my story has no real discernible structure and has been crafted poorly. Even allowing the benefit of the doubt that, having knowledge that this book was part of a series, it was assumed that the greater story could just be broken up in smaller installments, it still ignores the fact that I chose where each installment began and ended for several specific reasons. It assumes the divisions were arbitrary. They weren't.
But there's something more insidious about all this, something I'm sure my brother wasn't even aware of on a conscious level, and that's the immediate assumption that Y.A. books are fluff, that they're not real literature; that you can half-ass it and everything will be fine.
See, there's an arrogance most people acquire pretty much the moment they graduate high school. It is the immediate distancing of one's self from one's own adolescence. In the same kind of mad dash to be taken seriously that is ironically exhibited by teenagers, post-adolescents jump straight into the same condescension and belittlement that drove them crazy for six solid years. Teenagers are immediately dismissed as stupid, foolish, obnoxious, and unable to contribute any thoughts or ideas of any kind of value. The same issues and trials that caused these people genuine emotional distress when they were kids, the traumas that shaped the adults they became, are suddenly jeered at as bullshit kid problems, little stuff, unimportant, things you can in good conscience laugh at someone for actually caring about. The fact that, as teenagers, we were privy to real adult horrors without yet having developed the coping mechanisms to deal with them is promptly forgotten. It's basically the equivalent of a professional bodybuilder dropping a 200 pound weight, watching some 98-pound newbie who just got a gym membership catch it and dislocate his shoulder, and then calling him a big baby for crying out. It doesn't matter how easily the bodybuilder could lift that weight. The pain and damage it caused the newbie is just as real.
As such, people tend to assume that any book written for teenagers or even just about them is going to be 200+ pages of kids whining about whom they want to date, how hard their homework is, and how unfair their parents are. The idea that these characters are psychologically complex and living through legitimate hardships that would traumatize a person of any age is never even considered, nor is the possibility that the book might actually be about something. It's just assumed that it's an episode of Dawson's Creek in prose. And if you think that's all a book is, then sure, it doesn't really matter how long it is, and you can break it up anywhere, because it's all just more of the same. But let me ask you this.
If you picked up a mystery novel targeted at an adult audience, and the central mystery weren't solved by the end, would you or would you not consider that book a let-down and a waste of your time? I rest my case.
So my brother remarks on how 600-650 pages would be really long for a first-timer, Y.A. novel. And he's not wrong. This, of course, led him to bring up the topic of editors and how the editor would, and I quote, "rape the shit out of it."
Again, he's not wrong. From the point I hit 100 pages, I knew that this book was going to be a doorstopper. I knew it. I also knew it probably wouldn't be the first book I published. None of this bothered me. I had long since braced for it.
And then my brother (whom I would like to preface this by saying is a very cool, very intelligent guy) made a suggestion that blew right past stupid and crash-landed deep within the boundaries of offensive. He asked if perhaps I might consider just splitting the book in half and publishing Fall Semester as its own novel.
Now, most people would be hard-pressed to see what's so offensive about that suggestion, and I can see why. After all, it was offered in kindness, the proposal of an alternate strategy for the purpose of helping to ensure my success. I recognize that and all the love that motivated it. That doesn't change what else was behind that suggestion, so allow me to spell it out to all the non-writers out there.
By asking if I would consider this option, my brother must first have entertained the idea that it was even possible. Now, let's take a closer look at the reasoning behind that. As any high school student should be able to tell you (though I can't guarantee this, given the current state of the American educational system), every story has a structure, in its most primal form, beginning, middle, and end. Even in non-linear storytelling, the part you see at the end, regardless of where it comes in the chronology, is at the end for a reason. It's the big reveal or that new context that suddenly puts everything into perspective. It's what the story builds up to. Hence, if you split a story in the middle, you don't get the end. You get half the story and a major case of narrative blueballs.
Right about now, someone out there will be wondering where cliffhangers fit into all this. That's a whole other conversation, and all I will say on the matter is that cliffhangers are a certain type of ending; unresolved, but still an ending. After a cliffhanger, if you're going, "Damn that was a kick-ass story and I'm dying to know what happens next," that is the correct response. If your reaction is more along the lines of, "Wait... what, what... whoa whoa whoa... that's it?" then the writer failed.
So, getting back on track here, the suggestion of splitting the story implies that ending isn't important, that the climax of the story does not stand out enough from the rest of the narrative to be of any immediate value to the reader and that he or she would be just as satisfied stopping halfway through as they would getting to the end. So, what this sentiment basically implies is that my story has no real discernible structure and has been crafted poorly. Even allowing the benefit of the doubt that, having knowledge that this book was part of a series, it was assumed that the greater story could just be broken up in smaller installments, it still ignores the fact that I chose where each installment began and ended for several specific reasons. It assumes the divisions were arbitrary. They weren't.
But there's something more insidious about all this, something I'm sure my brother wasn't even aware of on a conscious level, and that's the immediate assumption that Y.A. books are fluff, that they're not real literature; that you can half-ass it and everything will be fine.
See, there's an arrogance most people acquire pretty much the moment they graduate high school. It is the immediate distancing of one's self from one's own adolescence. In the same kind of mad dash to be taken seriously that is ironically exhibited by teenagers, post-adolescents jump straight into the same condescension and belittlement that drove them crazy for six solid years. Teenagers are immediately dismissed as stupid, foolish, obnoxious, and unable to contribute any thoughts or ideas of any kind of value. The same issues and trials that caused these people genuine emotional distress when they were kids, the traumas that shaped the adults they became, are suddenly jeered at as bullshit kid problems, little stuff, unimportant, things you can in good conscience laugh at someone for actually caring about. The fact that, as teenagers, we were privy to real adult horrors without yet having developed the coping mechanisms to deal with them is promptly forgotten. It's basically the equivalent of a professional bodybuilder dropping a 200 pound weight, watching some 98-pound newbie who just got a gym membership catch it and dislocate his shoulder, and then calling him a big baby for crying out. It doesn't matter how easily the bodybuilder could lift that weight. The pain and damage it caused the newbie is just as real.
As such, people tend to assume that any book written for teenagers or even just about them is going to be 200+ pages of kids whining about whom they want to date, how hard their homework is, and how unfair their parents are. The idea that these characters are psychologically complex and living through legitimate hardships that would traumatize a person of any age is never even considered, nor is the possibility that the book might actually be about something. It's just assumed that it's an episode of Dawson's Creek in prose. And if you think that's all a book is, then sure, it doesn't really matter how long it is, and you can break it up anywhere, because it's all just more of the same. But let me ask you this.
If you picked up a mystery novel targeted at an adult audience, and the central mystery weren't solved by the end, would you or would you not consider that book a let-down and a waste of your time? I rest my case.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Update on The Preppy Suicides: Fall Semester v.4.0
Yes, 4.0. Writing is rewriting, people. Which brings me to today's topic. Rewriting can be a lot of things, but what it usually ends up being is tedious, because whatever problem there is with something you've written is often so subtle and so small, it requires scrutinizing the work over and over and fuckin' OVER again, until it starts to lose its meaning like a word you've said out loud too many times in the same minute.
This is one of the reasons I dread rewrites. Yes, it's because I hate killing my darlings (if I didn't, they wouldn't be very darling), but it's more than that. I have this fear that I'm going to get so bored by reading the same thing over and over that I'll start to gloss over it and miss what it is I need to fix or I'll let myself slide because I'm not really committing to the task at hand... since I just want it to be over. I eventually come back and do things right, but there usually comes a point where I just have to step back and give it some time. There is, of course, a flipside to this, and that's reviewing passages that simply never go stale no matter how many times I read them. When you read something you've written and enjoy it so much it feels like someone else wrote it, that shit is gold. When you can make yourself laugh with a one-liner or wince with a catty burn every time you read it, it doesn't get any better than that, folks.
Well, after the stuff I discussed two posts ago, the knowledge that I had to sort of breakdown the first semester and rearrange some things, I looked at the task ahead of me and found it rather daunting. It meant rewriting some early chapters, and the idea of revisiting that material, of having to start the story again was absolutely dreadful, because nothing is harder than beginnings. A lot of people say that endings are the hardest, but they never are for me. If you know what your story is really about, the ending is just a matter of two things, logic and patience: logic to help you realize what would be the most natural and fulfilling conclusion to everything that's come before it, and patience for that idea to come to you, because it isn't always immediately obvious.
No, I have trouble with beginnings, because by the ending, you've got your audience. Beginnings are where you not only have to hook that audience, but set your stage and put your story in motion, and they are thus very delicate creatures. How much exposition do you drop in? How much action? How much dialogue? Where is the starting point? What is prologue and should be referred to in flashback? It's a balancing act, and going back to that beginning and rewriting it, especially since certain points of view were changing due to chapter rearrangement, was going to be a massive job.
And it was.
But after I got out of those woods (it only took a week and a half, to my surprise), I found myself staring down the barrel of the rest of the semester. It was late, I was tired, and I knew it was not the time to go over dialogue or action. My brain just wasn't tuned up nearly enough to handle that. But a puzzle? A puzzle I could do, so I started fiddling with the continuity, figuring out what sequence the events had to come in, really getting down to the pacing and emotional rhythm of the content, and...
Holy... fucking... shit.
Somewhere around 5:15 AM, I was done. I knew there were a few chapters (mostly Patrick stuff, as his story, both the main mystery and his character arc, were getting altered the most) that I'd have to just sort of drop in as I went along. All in all, I think it'll add about three chapters to my current outline of Fall Semester, but for the most part, I had it. And it looked good. It looked tight. It put all the events into a fresh new context and it really feels like they were initially jumbled out of the right sequence and this version is the way things were supposed to be all along. I practically slapped myself in the head, thinking, how could I have not seen this before? How did I not have it like this from the beginning?! But that's rewriting. And the most amazing thing?
These thirty or so chapters ahead of me... I'm not dreading rewriting them. I'm not intimidated, I'm not reluctant, I'm not resigned to the task, and I'm not pissed that this is yet another setback from finishing my first complete draft. You know what I am?
I'm excited. Honestly, seriously, and indescribably excited. About rewriting. I simply cannot wait to get to work on these rewrites, and that is something I never in a million years thought I would say.
This is one of the reasons I dread rewrites. Yes, it's because I hate killing my darlings (if I didn't, they wouldn't be very darling), but it's more than that. I have this fear that I'm going to get so bored by reading the same thing over and over that I'll start to gloss over it and miss what it is I need to fix or I'll let myself slide because I'm not really committing to the task at hand... since I just want it to be over. I eventually come back and do things right, but there usually comes a point where I just have to step back and give it some time. There is, of course, a flipside to this, and that's reviewing passages that simply never go stale no matter how many times I read them. When you read something you've written and enjoy it so much it feels like someone else wrote it, that shit is gold. When you can make yourself laugh with a one-liner or wince with a catty burn every time you read it, it doesn't get any better than that, folks.
Well, after the stuff I discussed two posts ago, the knowledge that I had to sort of breakdown the first semester and rearrange some things, I looked at the task ahead of me and found it rather daunting. It meant rewriting some early chapters, and the idea of revisiting that material, of having to start the story again was absolutely dreadful, because nothing is harder than beginnings. A lot of people say that endings are the hardest, but they never are for me. If you know what your story is really about, the ending is just a matter of two things, logic and patience: logic to help you realize what would be the most natural and fulfilling conclusion to everything that's come before it, and patience for that idea to come to you, because it isn't always immediately obvious.
No, I have trouble with beginnings, because by the ending, you've got your audience. Beginnings are where you not only have to hook that audience, but set your stage and put your story in motion, and they are thus very delicate creatures. How much exposition do you drop in? How much action? How much dialogue? Where is the starting point? What is prologue and should be referred to in flashback? It's a balancing act, and going back to that beginning and rewriting it, especially since certain points of view were changing due to chapter rearrangement, was going to be a massive job.
And it was.
But after I got out of those woods (it only took a week and a half, to my surprise), I found myself staring down the barrel of the rest of the semester. It was late, I was tired, and I knew it was not the time to go over dialogue or action. My brain just wasn't tuned up nearly enough to handle that. But a puzzle? A puzzle I could do, so I started fiddling with the continuity, figuring out what sequence the events had to come in, really getting down to the pacing and emotional rhythm of the content, and...
Holy... fucking... shit.
Somewhere around 5:15 AM, I was done. I knew there were a few chapters (mostly Patrick stuff, as his story, both the main mystery and his character arc, were getting altered the most) that I'd have to just sort of drop in as I went along. All in all, I think it'll add about three chapters to my current outline of Fall Semester, but for the most part, I had it. And it looked good. It looked tight. It put all the events into a fresh new context and it really feels like they were initially jumbled out of the right sequence and this version is the way things were supposed to be all along. I practically slapped myself in the head, thinking, how could I have not seen this before? How did I not have it like this from the beginning?! But that's rewriting. And the most amazing thing?
These thirty or so chapters ahead of me... I'm not dreading rewriting them. I'm not intimidated, I'm not reluctant, I'm not resigned to the task, and I'm not pissed that this is yet another setback from finishing my first complete draft. You know what I am?
I'm excited. Honestly, seriously, and indescribably excited. About rewriting. I simply cannot wait to get to work on these rewrites, and that is something I never in a million years thought I would say.
Friday, April 20, 2012
The Preppy Suicides: Borrowed Time
Rarely is it that postponing a character death actually improves a story. It's rare... but it happens.
I've been going over my outline for The Preppy Suicides, looking at all the clues and plot points and becoming very upset that they all have just a little too much momentum. Now, momentum is a good thing, but I have reasons, and not arbitrary ones, that each volume of The Crossroads Chronicles has to span a school year. It's not a conceit I yoinked from Harry Potter or a vestige of when I'd planned to do this series as a TV show. There are legit reasons for it. And yet, there are only so many clues, only so many roads I can go down without getting redundant and adding filler.
And then I realized that a lot of that momentum had to do with a character death that occurs rather early on in the story, one in which the characters have a very personal stake. It's their entire purpose, and for them to dally around after this character has died would seriously leach credibility from the idea that this was their friend, that his death had a profound effect on them. Then, however, I realized...
His isn't the only death, and it isn't the first. If the first death piques their curiosity and gets them to start asking questions, they could begin their investigation without the immediate personal stake of the second death, and certain events put in motion by the second death could also be held off on. The rising action starts, but the story has room to breathe, to grow.
And then, when no one is looking... BAM! Death number two makes it personal. Death number two changes the game. It's the cue ball that sends every other ball on the table bouncing off the sides. This, of course, also has the added bonus of spending more time with the character who was supposed to die sooner. There is seriously no bad to this decision. Fo' shizzle!
Well, time to roll up my sleeves and get restructuring!
Beta readers, if you comment here, DO NOT NAME NAMES.
I've been going over my outline for The Preppy Suicides, looking at all the clues and plot points and becoming very upset that they all have just a little too much momentum. Now, momentum is a good thing, but I have reasons, and not arbitrary ones, that each volume of The Crossroads Chronicles has to span a school year. It's not a conceit I yoinked from Harry Potter or a vestige of when I'd planned to do this series as a TV show. There are legit reasons for it. And yet, there are only so many clues, only so many roads I can go down without getting redundant and adding filler.
And then I realized that a lot of that momentum had to do with a character death that occurs rather early on in the story, one in which the characters have a very personal stake. It's their entire purpose, and for them to dally around after this character has died would seriously leach credibility from the idea that this was their friend, that his death had a profound effect on them. Then, however, I realized...
His isn't the only death, and it isn't the first. If the first death piques their curiosity and gets them to start asking questions, they could begin their investigation without the immediate personal stake of the second death, and certain events put in motion by the second death could also be held off on. The rising action starts, but the story has room to breathe, to grow.
And then, when no one is looking... BAM! Death number two makes it personal. Death number two changes the game. It's the cue ball that sends every other ball on the table bouncing off the sides. This, of course, also has the added bonus of spending more time with the character who was supposed to die sooner. There is seriously no bad to this decision. Fo' shizzle!
Well, time to roll up my sleeves and get restructuring!
Beta readers, if you comment here, DO NOT NAME NAMES.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
The Preppy Suicides: Midpoint Review
I have just passed January in story time, which means I've completed the first semester, which in turn means I'm halfway through the story.
As I began with the first February chapter, I realized that there were only so many plot points left before I had to just cut to the climax or let my characters just look lazy or stupid. The thing is, there are certain characters whose arcs have not yet brought them to where they would need to be for that to happen, and I find myself with a problem: the plot is getting ahead of both the calendar and the characters.
As I began with the first February chapter, I realized that there were only so many plot points left before I had to just cut to the climax or let my characters just look lazy or stupid. The thing is, there are certain characters whose arcs have not yet brought them to where they would need to be for that to happen, and I find myself with a problem: the plot is getting ahead of both the calendar and the characters.
I've also run into the problem of not being sure who knows what at this point, which clues have been discovered and which connections have been made. Being the omniscient creator, it can be easy for me to lose track of which characters know what and when.
That being the case, I have decided that this is as good a time as any to go over the story so far, chapter by chapter, and document all the crucial exposition delivered up until this point so that I can get a better gauge of how to pace everything. This will not doubt be a rather tedious process, but better now than never.
For the record, some of the character sub-plots (which very directly influence the central mystery plot) have recently hit certain scenes that I am incredibly proud of. The last chapter I wrote seriously changes the game of not only this book, but the entire series, and it featured a scene so shocking and tragic (in the classic sense of tragedy, not the contemporary) that it just makes your stomach lurch. Both the story and the character in question just take a sharp turn and start everything spinning on a whole new axis, and I can't wait to pick up the story from where I left it.
More news to come soon!
Thursday, March 29, 2012
What Hurts The Most
Over the last two days, having spent some time away from the novel, I've really enjoyed the down time. I've been catching up on my reading, and that's great. I've also been looking forward to the material I'm about to cover. However, there's this phenomenon that occurs when I write.
I'm a big picture kind of guy. I've planned this story out as five books and have created roughly 150 years of backstory for it. I've mapped out character arcs and twists and turns: all of it. But I've noticed, as with other projects I've worked on, there's a world of difference between planning stuff and writing it out. I recently killed a character whom I'd been planning to kill since I was a teenager. I'd had more than enough time to prepare for it, and still when it happened, I actually had to shut my laptop and grieve for a day or two before continuing to the next scene.
A few days ago, as I was writing a scene featuring a character who is easily one of the most dynamic in the series, I visualized a moment from the final book, a moment that, if not his final scene, would be very close to the end. I've always known how his character would end, but never had any real specifics. Finally, sitting there, it came to me. A confession and a revelation, a cry for help, just four words: "I got so lost." I don't often make myself cry, but knowing the five books of story behind that statement, I had to wipe my eyes. It made me really think about the places I'm about to take this story emotionally, places I might not be prepared to handle.
I'm specifically thinking of a character who is unabashedly my favorite, a character who is carrying a lot more darkness than anyone will suspect. I constructed him this way, quite deliberately I might add. His story is meant to be painful and traumatic and disturbing, but in unleashing that upon my readers, I've realized I'll first have to unleash that on myself, and it's a little scary, because it taps into feelings I realize I have avoided dealing with for a very long time."
I am honestly terrified of going there, so, of course, there is this gentle voice, a ghost in my head taking my hand and saying, "That's how you know you have to."
And it's right. I do. Dammit.
I'm a big picture kind of guy. I've planned this story out as five books and have created roughly 150 years of backstory for it. I've mapped out character arcs and twists and turns: all of it. But I've noticed, as with other projects I've worked on, there's a world of difference between planning stuff and writing it out. I recently killed a character whom I'd been planning to kill since I was a teenager. I'd had more than enough time to prepare for it, and still when it happened, I actually had to shut my laptop and grieve for a day or two before continuing to the next scene.
A few days ago, as I was writing a scene featuring a character who is easily one of the most dynamic in the series, I visualized a moment from the final book, a moment that, if not his final scene, would be very close to the end. I've always known how his character would end, but never had any real specifics. Finally, sitting there, it came to me. A confession and a revelation, a cry for help, just four words: "I got so lost." I don't often make myself cry, but knowing the five books of story behind that statement, I had to wipe my eyes. It made me really think about the places I'm about to take this story emotionally, places I might not be prepared to handle.
I'm specifically thinking of a character who is unabashedly my favorite, a character who is carrying a lot more darkness than anyone will suspect. I constructed him this way, quite deliberately I might add. His story is meant to be painful and traumatic and disturbing, but in unleashing that upon my readers, I've realized I'll first have to unleash that on myself, and it's a little scary, because it taps into feelings I realize I have avoided dealing with for a very long time."
I am honestly terrified of going there, so, of course, there is this gentle voice, a ghost in my head taking my hand and saying, "That's how you know you have to."
And it's right. I do. Dammit.
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