Two years ago to this very day, I decided to write a book. I had no idea what I was getting into. At all. I also didn’t think I’d stick with the whole writing thing. I didn’t care about the grammar, the spelling, the characters. But after awhile, those were the things that I eventually started to care about the most.
If there was a green, red, or purple line under a word on Microsoft Word, I had to fix it. I couldn’t leave it. Even though the grammatical corrections were often wrong, I’d re-work sentences just to make the stupid lines disappear.
Then there are the characters. While they aren’t real people, aspects of my friends’ personalities (and my own) are in every single one of them. Every character is special.
Sometimes I feel that only a writer can truly understand the “friendship” of a character, because only they have experienced their protagonist take control of the plot. You type furiously at your keyboard, but it’s not really you writing. The characters have taken charge of the plot. (Okay, so in a sense it is you, because the characters are only figments of your imagination, but you get the idea.) You think about your characters all the time, and their personalities develops so fully in your mind, even if there’s no character development in your story.
So here I am, two years and almost three books later (my NaNoWriMo novel is still in progress, and moving quite fast). I’ve stuck with writing, and love it more than when I started by miles and miles. I’ve gotten over Microsoft Word’s silly corrections, and have learned to ignore them (unless they’re correct).
I want to keep the books and my treasured characters to myself, but I also want to release them out into the world. Who knows what I’ll do. For now, though, I’m keeping my words safe for only a few to see, until they’re ready. Until I’m ready.
But maybe one of these days I’ll let people see what really goes on inside my odd brain.