Despite the fact that I chose to spill my guts in a blog/journal, I’m nervous about sharing my writing tonight. Because that’s fiction. I seem to have no trouble with the way I recount my own adventures, but when I tell the tales of people who exist only in my head, that’s different. But I have about 2 and a half pages to bring tonight. A little scene in a bakery, with Lucy and a new character who just showed up out of the blue, named Oliver. I should name him Tom. Oliver came to me because Tom of das überbrain posted a link to the blog of Margaret Cho, whom I love. On her website, I saw this t-shirt, which i really really like. I looked at the red one and thought, “Oliver would wear that.” and then I thought, “Who is Oliver?” And that was it. A character was born because of a t-shirt, because of Margaret Cho, because of über Tom. And that is why I should have named him Tom, but did not. Sorry, Tom Smellybutt.
And there you have the secret to where characters come from, or at least my characters. From wherever they want. There is a character in my story, minor one, named Bertie. She came from the scratch lotto lady, Mary. Mary is an older lady who walks to my mini mart twice a day, to stand at the counter and drink coffee and scratch a few tickets. Rain or shine. She also likes to talk. And talk and talk and talk. However, Bertie is a bit wiser than Mary, I think. Edgar is a composite of all the guys who have ever worked as clerks at that mini mart. His name is Edgar because the first three consecutive clerks who worked there, since I moved to the neighborhood, were named Edgar. Or maybe there was only one name tag, a traditional name tag. And it was passed down from clerk to clerk.
Well, I just spent a few minutes telling Dr. Stevil to “shut up” and “fuck off” and “I don’t like you” and “go away.” And that was fun. And now I have to print out my wee little scene to share with writing group and be on my way. It occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, if I started to lie about my own life, here in the journal, I would be less hesitant about sharing my fictional stories with other people. Not to mention how much fun it is to make up stories and tell lies about yourself. hmmmm…..