|Hey, doesn't this look like a paper in a typewriter?|
Yesterday I started "The Book". I wrote some more today. I now have 1350 words (besides the almost 1500 I've written prior to this). Maybe that isn't many words to a person who has written published books, but it is to me.
I am slowly discovering my characters' characters. As I write, they are revealing themselves. Huh. I'd heard others say that this happens. I'd just never tried writing them into existence before.
It reminds me of coloring when I was a child. I imagined that as I colored, things would come to life or become real. They were just waiting for someone to help them out. So I colored and all sorts of things could finally be real - grass, sky, animals, trees.
And now I am writing. And as I write, people just come, and they are real because I wrote them. Like a coloring page, they were always there, waiting. But now I've written them into reality.
I can't stop in the middle, or they will be upset with me, I'm sure. This is a very strange feeling. I think I like it.
But they will have to wait a bit now until tonight or tomorrow. I also have real vacuuming to do.