My characters speak to me constantly, and sometimes at the most inconvenient times. It’s nothing that I’m worried about. In fact, it’s something that I count on to draw me through the story I’m writing. When I’m writing, I’m living in the world of my characters, and communicating with them.
There are times when my characters drive me from a comfortable bed, interrupt a meal, or keep me from the next chapter in that wonderful Soul Mate romance I’ve been reading. They can be quite irritating, but they are completely essential to my storytelling, so I let them get away with it, because the only thing worse than my characters jabbering at me…is my characters NOT jabbering at me.
It happened last week. I’ve been working on my sequel to Son of Thunder. Nott, the Norse Goddess of the Night, and Tyr the God of Courage (minor characters from SoT) had been dragging me along through their story ever since Christmas. Suddenly, their voices just went silent. Nott has wondered off to take a nap, and Tyr just looks at me and shrugs. I seriously didn’t know what to do with them.
The silence in my head was deafening.
I took a few days off, played around with some ideas, but they never started talking to me. In the silence, though, I heard a cry. A cry from another galaxy…another time.
A novel I’d started last year, set in the far flung future, suddenly hyper-jumped front and center in my mind. Rigel, the galactic bounty hunter, and the beautiful Phoebe, his bounty in more ways than one, are suddenly filling my ears with their story.
“You promised you’d get back to us.” And I had. Things can only remain on the back burner so long before the pot melts. So I’m leaving the Norse gods behind, and rocketing off to another galaxy, at least for the next few weeks.
Wish me luck.