I wrote about the wall yesterday. Ah, the dreaded wall. I took my laptop to Starbucks, got buzzed on a grande mocha (went for the 2% milk instead of the nonfat this time-yay for life's little splurges), and sent my fingers flying.
I knew where my story needed to go. My main character, a shapeshifter, needed to break into the dreaded vampire lair. His woman, maybe the love of his life, was kidnapped and taken hostage. She's in the lair. And she needs him. He trudges through the mountains in search of the secret entrance and runs into a witch (who will be the heroine from the next book in the series). But that's where I hit the wall...
How was he going to get in? Where would the hero and heroine meet? And how would he get her out?
All these were questions I intended to answer yesterday...and I think I did. Maybe all I needed was a change of scenery. Don't get me wrong, I love looking at my kitchen wall while I type. But seriously, can you see how this could get old?
So anyway, I had an idea of where I wanted my story to go, but as I started to type, the characters veered into different directions. My heroine didn't want to be weak and indecisive. She wanted to be strong, cool and collected. My hero didn't want to wait for the perfect opportunity to break into the lair. He wanted to dive in, get his feet wet, and find his love.
I had the feeling that the characters were taking on a mind of their own. I felt a little like the doctor who made Frankenstein, I suppose. I created these characters. I should know what they're going to do and how they're going to think...shouldn't I?
Or maybe, like the maniacal doctor, all I can do is create a base form. Once the slate is built the characters really do come alive. No, I'm not crazy. I don't hear voices. My characters don't speak to me in my sleep. That'd be a little overboard. But I broke through the wall. And I'm looking forward to seeing what lives these characters will lead next.