Amber Jennell

I sat down to write last night, and the words flowed from my fingers like water. Not a river or flash flood, filling up page after page. Simply a small stream, the kind that winds it's way through the trees and over meadow. One page, than another fell be hind the onslaught of my pencil until, more than half way into chapter 3, the stream dried up. Well, it didn't actually dry up so much as fork into two directions. One way, the path my story was to take, was bone dry with only puddles to mark where water once flowed. The other way, that of my characters, flowed full and fast. A virtual rapid amidst washerwomen and daffodils. Though I wished to fallow my original path, the idea dry save for a few known moments that where crucial to my story, the path of my character beckoned. A sparkling, rushing stream is much more inviting than that of a dried up one. And the laughing conversation of the washerwomen a reprieve from castle life. But I was dedicated. I would not deviate from the chosen path. And I would pound that into my character if need be. Low and behold, a voice from the shadows encouraged, encouraged, my character to revolt. Of course, like any good character, that is exactly what she did. So now I stand here, at the edge of a waterfall with no end in sight, waiting for my character to take the plunge. And she will, it's in her nature. As I once told a friend: Characters are a lot like children. When you tell them to do something, especially when it is for their own good, they'll quickly go they other way. For if given half the change, a character will spit in your eye and laugh. Happy Writing, Amber