Characters = disobedient little buggers. Or not.

"My characters won't do what I want!"

Don't even pretend you've never heard that before. It's a phrase I don't understand, and for which I blame kitschy romance novelists — the same ones I usually blame for everything.

"They won't do what I want!" was the phrase that kept me convinced I wasn't a REAL writer for a long time. Whenever I wrote stories, my characters did exactly what I wanted. I never had any rebellion in the ranks. If I wanted the characters to go left, they went left. If I wanted them to go right, they went right. If I wanted them to grow wings, run into the air while clutching on a cellphone, and then land in the fairy realm, they would.

(Of course, I've never asked them to do that, so maybe I'm just making stuff up now...)

Either way, this idea that characters were supposed to be rebellious people who torture an author all the way through a story confused me greatly. Since my characters have never done that, I just assumed I wasn't a real author, and that I would never be able to write a book and get it published. I figured that my characters, in comparison to the apparently self-willed characters other authors invented, must be bland, dull, and boring.

If everyone else has characters who obey, does that mean I'm doing it wrong? I'm writing wrong! I'm a wrong writer! The horrors!

My dear Watson, who happens to be a real author with a book and everything (see here) wrote her first book (did I mention that you can find it here?) around the same time I was writing mine. She finished hers first and succeeded in getting it to a publisher while mine continues to sit in my hard drive. C'est la vie.

BUT, a couple of months ago, Shannen wrote this piece on her blog that reminded me of this whole inner struggle I had with characters who did EXACTLY WHAT I TOLD THEM TO. Luckily, since I personally witnessed the writing process of another writer, I'm convinced that I'm not "wrong." I'm just "different."

(There — doesn't that make it sound better?)

Around the time Shannen wrote that post, she texted me something like, "I just figured out how my book is going to end!" This was the book she was like, two chapters, away from finishing.

I went, "WHAAAAAAT?!"

Every writer has a different process, and the fact that Shannen (and I'm sure other writers with disobedient characters) make things up as they go along blows my poor little mind. I've never been able to make up stories as I go. It's not my style. Maybe my characters all obey because their storylines are computed, arranged, and debated before I even bother writing anything down. (Seriously, if I die tomorrow, about 9 fully written books die with me.)

For me, the writing process begins with just one scene. The best way to describe it is like a seed — one tiny idea gets planted, and then I build on it mentally, bit by bit, until suddenly I've got an entire story. Then I have to go through the trouble of writing it down and tying the scenes all together.

Or — for a visual — it's like making a clay creation. (This is what I do when I'm supposed to be editing)

Start with cardboard and tinfoil, and then end with a... a something!

Anyway, so last month I went to a performance of "Aida" at Hillcrest High School. I went on a whim, and because I start each year with a list of plays I'd like to see, and "Aida" was the last one I needed to hit. (By the way, it was freaking amazing. Go to Hillcrest plays. You'll be impressed.)

So I was innocently sitting there during intermission trying to see if the cute cameraman was married (what? I'm single. I can do that stuff.) and reading my program, when suddenly, a scene came to me. It went like this:

"Are you normal?" ____ demanded.

"What?" ____ asked.

"Are you normal?" she repeated.

That's it. That's my scene. Despite the fact that the characters didn't even have any names (hence the blanks), in the past few weeks that scene has become an entire book in my head. I've molded it and built it over many December tooth-brushing sessions. (Brushing your teeth = 2nd greatest time to think.)

Every single book I've written (which is technically none, since they're just sitting in Word files on my computer) ... Okay, I feel like I'm overreaching...

Clarification.

Every single Word file I've written that one day has the potential to become a book if I can find a sucker publisher and some editing gumption — has a scene just like that. Some are shorter than others, but each one sparked a story. I'll call it the genesis scene.

There's this one:

“But look at the girls he’s dancing with,” I said, letting my insecurities slip out. “They’re beautiful.”

Or this one: Suddenly, a flash of red appeared, rolling down the slope of the mountain. As I stared, i realized that the shape was actually a girl, and my mouth dropped open.

Or this:

"According to government statute 65921, this tower must be registered with the Ministry of Zoning and Urban Development."

And this:

"Excuse me. Do you know where I can find _____?"

Or this:

The rain fell in a gray curtain, hiding the city behind him and muffling all but the sound of his own breathing.

And this one:

I know who the ____ is. And his apprentice, too.

This too:

“You’re the President of the United States,” she said.

Or even this:

"I’ve got a phone call for you,” the secretary called.

From each of those tiny scenes (and more!) my obedient, happy characters in their obedient, happy storylines grew and developed into full stories. Maybe I'm not a real author, but the characters seem real to me, and I suppose that's what counts.

Someday I'll get around to putting the stories onto paper. But first, maybe I'll make another clay thing...

(Just kidding Shan. I'm editing. I'm totally editing.)

(Actually, I'm still cleaning my room... Sigh.)