Well, now I am well and truly F****d. Because, I never intend to write love in, it just happens. In stories, it just happens, I plan a characters future and then it just sort of sneaks up on me. I suppose that is why it happens in real life.
In truth, the Coryburn Girls has been worked on for a while, and there are many other stories that I have written since my love of writing started. But I discovered something, I have a type. A literary type, I should say. My alter ego or representative somehow has a type, and I suppose it is only natural, because the truest affection of love that these characters feel, who they fall for is someone that I must have imagined since I was young. Someone who was kind and funny and comfortable to be around.
Well, here is where I got myself into trouble, I wrote an ideal for a story, a dream person who I could fall in love with, full of secrets, full of honesty, full of a hidden pain that I understood. And then I did it again for another story, it was the same, if not a similar man, his features were different aesthetically, but his core, what made him who he was, was the same.
Then I forgot about him, these characters, I did a few other projects without that character as exercises, I tried different things, then went back and looked at the characters from what I considered to be afar, and the fondness was still there.
But then reality came along, the real world, the thing I was escaping from all that time. So longer story short, I found him, that character, in the real world. It took a long time to make the connection, but I had written about this kind jerk long before I found him in the real world. It took a couple of months before I realized all of this though, as far as I was concerned I was just dating someone, in a relationship with someone who made me laugh and feel comfortable and safe.
When I realized what I had done, that the fantasy existed, maybe not the story, but that one character, however imperfect the both of them were/are, I think I was more surprised that it could actually happen.
A character I had dreamed up at times when the world was too hard, when it was too painful to be me, in a world I had dreamed of to escape. The thought that a character like that was real, that they could fundamentally exist in the real world still surprises me. I base some characters on people I already know, and this just seemed so impossible.
Its over a year since I met this person, I am astounded every single day that its possible they exist, a person I wrote about before I had ever met them. I can’t tell if I still love the old character or whether I have now changed my perception and imprinted this real person over the idea of them and said, “yes, this is the right energy” for the character. I don’t think it matters.
Every day I am still surprised, good and bad, by what can manifest itself in our lives.
That’s not to say I regret the choices I have made, that I should have denied myself, but it is to say, I can still write and be happy, I don’t have to be escaping from some kind of pain to drift off into the island of another world.
I love them both, character and the real guy. I got to know personality, the real person, before we met and maybe that is what has made the difference and held my attention. Either way, I am grateful for the experience.