Several people have asked me how lately how the rewrite of Shaken is going. Usually I smile and say, “Great, great. A lot of work, but it’s going great!” That is mostly true. I’m a little overwhelmed at the idea of doubling the length of an already-finished story, but it’s going surprisingly well.
What is disturbing to me is that when I re-opened the story and woke up those sleeping characters, they started “doing stuff.” Stuff I didn’t expect or hope for. This probably sounds completely crazy to a non-writer, but sometimes our characters take on a life of their own and decide to start making their own annoying choices.
On Facebook today another writer mentioned, “My character just informed me that she has a pet iguana. Now I have to go online and research iguanas. Why can’t she have a goldfish? I know a little about goldfish.”
I recently finished reading the book Shade by John B. Olson (I’ll be reviewing it tomorrow). The lead character was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. At one point in the story she thanks her friend for giving her a ride. The friend answers, “What are imaginary friends for?”
That’s really what our characters are: imaginary friends. We have lofty goals about directing their path, but they often choose their own road and even get lost sometimes.
A few days ago, my lead character, Wanda and her friend were walking through earthquake-ravaged San Francisco (1906). She heard a faint cry and they began digging through the wreckage of a building and unearthed a baby. I didn’t plan for this. I know the climax and ending of the book. It doesn’t include a baby. I started trying to delete the section, but I couldn’t do it. Wanda was determined to save this baby and fought the delete key with everything a sixteen-year-old fictional character has.
Okay, fine. Keep the baby for a few chapters. We’ll just see what happens.
But every day (and chapter) that passed, I started getting more anxious. I’ve got to get rid of this baby! It became a joke around my house.
“Get rid of the baby yet, Mom?”
“No, Wanda refuses to give it up.”
I was starting to get nervous that I was going to have to re-write the ending of the book. I was starting to envision scenarios where she raises the baby on her own, or her parents adopt the infant, etc.
Today, I’m tapping along at the keyboard and suddenly a woman with sad eyes appears. “Hey, who’s this?” I wonder. “Oh, hey, maybe Wanda could give… Nah, she’s too stubborn, she won’t do it.”
Imagine my shock when she actually makes the right choice. Call it a writer’s hallucination, but I think Wanda was smirking at me. “You thought I couldn’t do it, didn’t you?”
Only a writer can come home from a day’s work, shouting with glee: “I got rid of the baby!”
I suppose it’s good that I had the common sense not to yell that in public.