In a small way, I feel like I am not the same as the rest of the people here. My biggest OTP is my own.
I have to wonder if other people feel this way. Does J.K. Rowling ship Harry and Ginny, or Hermione and Ron? Does Suzanne Collins ship Peeta an Katniss?
You should all look forward to a lot of cute moments, but at the same time it will be so hard to understand. So many of my characters are complex and diverse, I don’t know how I ever came up with them. I daresay that a few have taken on lives of their own, completely independent of what I try to make them.
That’s the thing about me. I don’t think up stories, ideas of some shadowy figure going on a while adventure, their face only filled in later. I think of people, faces, names, sometimes just a single word that can define them. There are worlds within my head, and yet… they would be nothing without the people that populate them.
I feel so sad when one of them has to go. Sometimes they never arrive in the first place, because there is no room for them in the story. But Bealon and Vanessa are still very much alive in my head, despite how they have been cut from their tales. I know that not everyone can be, but still.
It’s even worse when I have to let them go, when someone it comes to be that Dellie, or Violet, or Chess, must die in order for the world to be saved, or because it is the only way to make others realize their stupidity and the true importance of the people around them.
Sometimes people ask me (close friends, the ones who hear my rants) why I don’t just change the characters, or the story. If the death makes me so sad, them why must it take place? If you hate this character so much, them why not make them more agreeable? Why is that so hard to answer? Why can I not put into words the way that, one the story has been found, it can never be forgotten?
It is so hard to understand things. Addiction is one, though I’m a bit better at knowing about that now that I have found the internet. I suppose your own self is another, and perhaps the largest. As a teenager, I find myself doing and saying things, becoming things, that I have never known before. My brain does not make sense to me, and though I have heard that it is impossible to multitask, I find myself thinking of doing two different things in the same instant. Sometimes words come to me, their source unknown, clouded. I consider that the moment when my characters come to life. I never have to think of what Trixie will say, and for Emily it is hardly a struggle. But for others, I am forced to sit and muse over the next sentence, the next word. For those who know me, I find that with Crow. I want him to be perfect, and yet I know that he cannot be the perfect husband. He must have flaws, because we all have flaws.
Some things come easily, and some do not. It has always been my hope to actually finish my first, and greatest (Not to mention most complicated) story, but I cannot. I am not yet great, and I still have ever so much to learn. But for now, I can fill my time with plotting for the greater days, and with the smaller, an simpler tasks.
…oOo…
I hope you have enjoyed the Beautiful Randomness (I must remember to trademark that) above.
(This was originally posted on Tumbler so yeah.)
I have to wonder if other people feel this way. Does J.K. Rowling ship Harry and Ginny, or Hermione and Ron? Does Suzanne Collins ship Peeta an Katniss?
You should all look forward to a lot of cute moments, but at the same time it will be so hard to understand. So many of my characters are complex and diverse, I don’t know how I ever came up with them. I daresay that a few have taken on lives of their own, completely independent of what I try to make them.
That’s the thing about me. I don’t think up stories, ideas of some shadowy figure going on a while adventure, their face only filled in later. I think of people, faces, names, sometimes just a single word that can define them. There are worlds within my head, and yet… they would be nothing without the people that populate them.
I feel so sad when one of them has to go. Sometimes they never arrive in the first place, because there is no room for them in the story. But Bealon and Vanessa are still very much alive in my head, despite how they have been cut from their tales. I know that not everyone can be, but still.
It’s even worse when I have to let them go, when someone it comes to be that Dellie, or Violet, or Chess, must die in order for the world to be saved, or because it is the only way to make others realize their stupidity and the true importance of the people around them.
Sometimes people ask me (close friends, the ones who hear my rants) why I don’t just change the characters, or the story. If the death makes me so sad, them why must it take place? If you hate this character so much, them why not make them more agreeable? Why is that so hard to answer? Why can I not put into words the way that, one the story has been found, it can never be forgotten?
It is so hard to understand things. Addiction is one, though I’m a bit better at knowing about that now that I have found the internet. I suppose your own self is another, and perhaps the largest. As a teenager, I find myself doing and saying things, becoming things, that I have never known before. My brain does not make sense to me, and though I have heard that it is impossible to multitask, I find myself thinking of doing two different things in the same instant. Sometimes words come to me, their source unknown, clouded. I consider that the moment when my characters come to life. I never have to think of what Trixie will say, and for Emily it is hardly a struggle. But for others, I am forced to sit and muse over the next sentence, the next word. For those who know me, I find that with Crow. I want him to be perfect, and yet I know that he cannot be the perfect husband. He must have flaws, because we all have flaws.
Some things come easily, and some do not. It has always been my hope to actually finish my first, and greatest (Not to mention most complicated) story, but I cannot. I am not yet great, and I still have ever so much to learn. But for now, I can fill my time with plotting for the greater days, and with the smaller, an simpler tasks.
…oOo…
I hope you have enjoyed the Beautiful Randomness (I must remember to trademark that) above.
(This was originally posted on Tumbler so yeah.)
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