Writing this at 915 PM after another long day. It feels oddly like a ‘sin’ to write about the end of the world, when I’m about to become a father.
On the other hand, there is a story here I know I’ve wanted to, well, make real for a very, very long time. I’ve tried before in different versions and it always foundered. I think I feel okay, overall, about having chosen this story for this time in my life. Because the end of the world is just, well, a ‘trick’ to tell that story which is deeper. It’s about dimension travel, sure, but also – I find out more and more – about one of my grittier ‘outsider-characters’.
I’ve written a few in my time, variations of the same character I suppose, but Mary is SO angry. So much more than many of my previous ‘outcasts’.
I know it sounds pretentious to talk about her as if she was real and kind of deciding things in the story, but in all honesty I started with her just as a cipher and then she has, yes, grown as I wrote the story, kind of dictated more and more that it’s about her.
All about her feelings. About her isolation. About her loneliness.
As much as a romp through dimensions and feeble attempts at homages.
I wonder how may others have come to feel the same way about characters they have written, started with just as an idea, maybe just a name and nothing more? When? Under what circumstances? What story were they telling?
This is one of the things to think about that makes me feel connected with someone I’ll never see in a way that’s very beautiful.