Sometimes we writers hand pick our main characters, conjuring up exactly whose story we wish to tell. And other times they choose us. For my latest work-in-progress I had every intention of writing about a girl from China. I really wanted to tell her story so I summoned her, plying her with promises of creative freedom and all the fruit flavored candy her heart desires.I waited (somewhat) patiently for her to show up. Then it happened. One morning she arrived.
"Howdy," she said.
Howdy? What the??
She went on. "I reckon I'm not who you were expecting."
"Not unless you're from Asia."
"No ma'am. Fraid not."
"Maybe southern Asia?"
"No, ma'am. Not me. I'm southern all right, but not from Asia."
"Look, no offense, but I think you have the wrong writer," I told her.
"Nope. The Muse sent me to you. Said you'd have Skittles."
Those darn Muses. Where would they be without their charming sense of humor and lousy sense of direction?
I threw up my hands. "Well, I suppose since you've come all this way from..."
"Alabama, then I ought to see what it is you have to say."
"Candy first. Story later." she said.
So that's how it came to be that I met the latest star of my literary show. Let the record reflect that she and I have gone on to become fast friends and despite the drawl, I think I can write her tale with a decent amount of conviction. With any luck one day in the near future, y'all will let me know whether or not I done good.
(Reckon she's under my skin already...)