I posted a while back about the follies of using real people as inspiration in stories.
Well, guess what? I didn’t heed my own warnings. I spent some time indulging in “what ifs” and whys and hows and, sometimes, whos and, well…
Let’s just say some of the results weren’t pretty.
For the last few months I have been enjoying myself with some fiction about life in general and a very specific set of circumstances, the premise of which could be brilliant. It currently reads as though it came from a lust-driven teenage girl who is so terrified of sex she hides her own sexuality under jumpers that are way too big for her writing about her first forays into said sexuality in her secret diary. And I would expect it to sound like it was written by a lust-driven teenage girl who is so terrified of sex she hides her own sexuality under jumpers that are way too big for her because I haven’t really ever stopped being that awkward, gawky, uncomfortable teenager so my characters still have their secret diaries and kind of are my own adult version of those first glimpses.
Still, beyond the meandering, there is an element of the story bordering on rich feminist opinion in a male dominated domain that means I can’t let go of what it could be. And this, of course, means that no matter how much of a headfuck bits of it have been (yeah, thanks for that 😉 ) I have to keep at it until it comes to its natural conclusion.
The things we do for novels, huh?
When I’m not adding copious amounts of glitter to turds in the hope they’ll turn into diamonds, I’m preparing for this year’s Campnanowrimo – another dive into 50000 words of nonsensical whimsy. I’m more prepared this time than I was for nanowrimo in November. I have a plot and a couple of characters and I know how I’m going to start, so I’ll get around 1000 words done at least.
It’s going to be a challenging month, but I’m sure it’ll be worth it.