Well that would be if it actually did anything.

Instead, it has caused another project to open up in front of me.

Now I am editing and working on more than one extra project. For once, I am working on  a project that I haven’t planned a second of. That’s right, I am winging it. I hate not knowing where I am going with it but it is pretty damn exciting.

What I want to know is, does it ever work?

This winging it stuff, its pretty damn fun, so far I think all I have done is test the character again and again, repeatedly destroying their life. Its intriguing to see what the character organically responds to, and the characters around them. It pretty much seems an impossibly plausible story, I find that concerning, and the challenges are getting deeper and harder to over come. But that overwhelmed feeling is something we always suffer until we find the solutions.

Honestly I have a general direction for the winging it, but who knows how it will be achieved. I quite like it, but it does feel more or less never ending than all the editing that I need to be doing, that I should be doing. I think, I might have to put it down for a little while, refocus on the editing and then come back to it when I have done what must be done rather then all this procrastinating.

Progress update:

I am going insane, this editing is driving me mad. It seems never ending, but it should be ready soon.

Secret: I am planning to have it deadline ready for release on June 3rd this year. In special honour, because it one of my best friends birthday that day. H will be 25! So, release due on that day is kind of a special salute to him.

In book two the girls are going to discover what it is their parents have been keeping from them.

 

It has made me wonder, nature vs nurture. If the nature is as strong as the tide, and the nurturing was weak or indifferent, surely nature is going to win? But is it possible for the nurture to have any affect on the end results?

Does much of what we learn as a child stick through adolescence and growing up? Do we rebel for the sake of it or to test ourselves?

I have no idea, I am just procrastinating from editing. I like procrastinating. Since I discovered pinterest I have become a professional at procrastinating. I even pin anti procrastinating pins, I am that good at procrastinating.

Well, obviously, magic. Because that is how they can exist. So how and what kind? Do they pour their own magic into the world and let it grow?

Perhaps they eat the odd vegetable, the odd bit of meat like an idiot warrior sent to destroy it? Maybe they eat the odd tree, or the clouds? To be honest they could eat anything.

Perhaps the magic they exude makes the world around them inedible? Or perhaps the magic that they exude makes everything edible, they just choose to eat to survive, they eat what is the least consequential in terms of magic. Maybe their purpose is to increase the magic in the world, to help it thrive?

Perhaps that is why magic is now something in our minds and hearts and not blindingly obvious in the world around us?

I have no idea, if I meet one, I will have to find out, if I live to tell the tale that is.

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.