Ever lived with a character for a long time before they finally make it to the page?
I wrote a short piece of fiction over 25 years ago. It was like the first draft of a poem. Raw. A little too personal. But I liked it that way. It was a kind of therapeutic expression, as writing poetry can often be. But, over time, those blood-letting poems need to be detached from you by the umbilical chord. Set free and, over time, evolved from the personal to the universal if they are to resonate with others. That is their survival technique.
Well, I am finally cutting that chord and giving this particular character her own life. She’s evolving into her own person, away from me. She’s beginning to write her own story like fictional characters are apt to do once they’ve been given a world to populate. And that’s just fine by me.
Oh, and her name’s Flowers. Just don’t call her Daisy.
Never, not ever, call her Daisy…