D: Are you trying to insinuate that I’m broody?
A: There’s no insinuation about it, D, you are broody.
D: I disagree.
A: . . . Wait, that’s it? ‘I disagree?’ No snark? No, ‘bloody woman’ this, ‘intolerable’ that? Who are you and what have you done with my Druid?
D: It’s a simple statement of fact. I disagree with you. Feeding you insults only encourages you, I find.
A: And I’m not to be encouraged?
D: Not on this.
D: (Ha! Finally got her to –)
A: Oi, I heard that!
D: Drat. It was worth a try. Look here, I am not broody. I’m emotional. I’m magnificent. I am passionate. I do not brood and I don’t lurk.
A: Fine. You don’t lurk . . . anymore. Now that Sean and Maureen know who you are in the story, the need to lurk is less. However! A tendency to succumb to deep thoughts and a touch of anxiety is not alien to your nature, D. You brood.
D: . . .
A: On occasion.
D: . . . .
A: Case in point, you’re brooding now, which brings me back to my original point: Moping.
D: I’m not—
A: Yes you are. And to be fair, I think I might be too. For the first time this month, it’s been like pulling teeth to write more than 500 words a night. Once I sit down and make myself do it, 2k words stumble out , but by that time I’m wooing sleep deprivation with a desperation that is just not becoming. I’m starting to look like Jack’s zombies over here and that could be a problem (and as in Charles’ post, both the Zombie and I could use a vacation)!
D: Are you done plugging everyone’s blogs See, there you go again, stealing the tale-telling . . . intolerable bloody woman.
D: You started it.
A: (Deep cleansing breaths…). See, this is called moping, D. While I was away, and everyone was writing with you, I had the privilege of seeing you through different lenses. It was incredible. Plus, we were still working together, but in a different way: I wasn’t writing with you here, but I was writing with you there. You are Part 3. Now that I’m 40 pages into Part 4 with nary a word from you except in the past tense, I’m beginning to notice the lack of you – not on the page so much as in my mind.
D: I think you are mistaking an empty head–
D: Sorry. Please, continue.
A: Somewhere in writing all this, you fled my mind and became your own person. It’s my own fault – I gave you a blog, after all – but your silence is making it difficult for my ideas and words to find focus. Please, don’t be silent. We have 7 days left to write 12k words. I can do it, but I need your help. Stick with me, and I promise your conclusion in this story will be better than anything I cooked up writing the outline. It always is.
D: Go on, say it.
A: Say what? Weren’t you listening?
D: Say it!
A: Fine. I miss you, D. Please liven up my brain. We need you in that gloppy mess.
D: Ha!! Victory is mine.
A: You knew that’s where this was going, didn’t you?
D: I’m not 1300 years old for nuthin’ A.
A: I am so going to love writing the parts of your book where you get your arse kicked.
The Druid Tells the Tale
If you’ve managed to follow us this far, please take a quick jaunt over to Ionia’s blog, where she asks a very interesting question on the nature of allure and (must I use the word, A? Yes, D. You want to tell the tale, call it by the name Ionia gave it. Fine.) What Makes Someone Sexy? It generated some delightful and thought-provoking responses (mine included, of course. A responded too, but she is as frivolous as always . . . Oi, Druid! Stay on task.)
Then there is an incredible piece of Charles’ writing over at the Community Storyboard, a sneak peek at two of his characters, Luke and Nyx. That’s how magic ought to be done.
For those of you who like to support and promote your favorite wordsmiths, Both Briana and Charles are looking for bloggers to help promote their upcoming books. A and I are looking forward to taking part in the blog-love-fest, as A likes to call it.
Finally, this articulate gentleman, Nicholas Conley, discusses that vicious inner voice, which he deems the Self-Cannibalistic Creative Monster. It’s a wonderfully insightful post. A likes it because there is Mark Twain and fun pictures, but I like it for its honesty and truth. And no, I’m not A’s inner voice externalized. I’m pretty sure she ignores that voice just as much as she ignores me most of the time. It would explain so much.
Good night, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for being a part of my tale.
A invites the audience’s participation
I think I just outgrew my “D’s a snarky so-and-so” crutch. Not that he isn’t a snarky so-and-so, it’s simply that I can’t use that as my impetus to get his story onto the page. Now I just love his story!
What do you do when you realize that you (or your character) have outgrown a particular way of relating and creating?