Got some special permission a week ago. After author Jeff Lindsay's keynote address at a writer's conference, he was asked how he knew so much about psychology. His books go rather deep into a rather disturbed mind of a man many folks met on Showtime named Dexter. He said that being a writer means you just want to know what everyone is doing and why they do it.
I love that. I love the special permission it grants to writers. However, any of my friends and family can tell you I haven't exactly been waiting on permission.
You want to talk about your co-workers collection of tea cups, I'm your gal. Give me two minutes of most anything on TV, and I'm in. Want to dive into why your ex-father-in-law sent your new husband's mother a Mother's Day card? Let's go.
And yet, this is also why I need, more than anything, alone time. I can't be with people without mining and seeking and thinking and wondering. Then it all comes around in my writing. When I start working out characters I have a deep reservoir of traits and actions and mistakes to draw from.
So, all my questions? Well, I just gots to know.
Can't seem to help myself.
2 comments:
Okay, this was funny, because it is soo you! You ask a million questions, and you actually listen to what people say. When you asked the other day on FB if I had mums on my porch, I scratched my head. Huh? How would she know about the mums? We live in different states. Then I recalled a conversation we had at a lunch table two, maybe three years ago, when I mentioned putting mums on my porch. It was part of a story I was telling. Such minor details would pass quickly through a normal person's mind...but whoever said writers were normal?
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