More Than That...

      I was once again asked that time-old question.

      'Why do you write?'

      My first response: Because it's all that I want to do. All that I have.

      But then I thought about it. Of course someday I want to be, Amie Salmon: Writer, with the proper credentials and all, but aren't I more than that?

      Aren't I a writer, reader, student, sister, blogger, daughter, aunt, twitterer, fan, friend and so on? Aren't we all more than one thing? Isn't that the thing which writers try hard to do for their characters, make them more than one dimensional? Don't we all, fictional or not, deserve to be known as more than just one thing?

     For some reason writing this post made me think of when I went to watch Magic Mike at the cinema the other day. It was my birthday, and me and my friend were having a marathon day at the pictures. Magic Mike was our last order of the day, mainly because it was the only time it was on. We were both, along with another friend and her mum, looking forward to watching some sexy boys shaking their thang. Then as we were buying our tickets, the girl selling them to us said that Magic Mike wasn't all it appeared to be.

      Me and my friend were a little miffed, but we knew that at least this way we wouldn't be disappointed as we were prepared. And we weren't, none of us were. (And neither were most of the reviewers or other cinema goers according to an on-line search.) It wasn't the best, or most ground-breaking film I've ever seen, but it was good. And it was so much more than just a film that invited women to come and have a good time to. It was about discovery, love, friendship, temptations, dark side of fun, and so much more. There were scenes I weren't expecting, and many that I were. There was laughter and a few moments that made you want to shout: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!

      After that rant, my point is – it wasn't what I initial expected. It was better.

      So my two new goals in life: Be me, not who people expect me to be.

                                                 Make my characters whole, rounded. Make them real.

I think as a writer, that's not a bad goal to have.

The Character In Us

During revisions of my first novel I made lots of important notes that would help me with later books in the series. Some of the most important notes I made were about characters, and during the process I realised how much of myself I put into them.

I took time to think about all my stories, focusing on the heroines, and made a list of what I gave to them.

Now it might have been something like freckles, I have them in abundance so tend to give them to most of my characters too. Then I noticed that I had given away some of my personality traits, my likes and dislikes.

Examples; a whole world was created due to my love of snow; in another book my characters main trait is how tongue-tied she gets in situations.

This is probably why I am so connected to the people I create.

Of course I have characters who are nothing like me, and I love them all the same. My stories would be so boring otherwise, and they wouldn’t reflect this wonderful diverse world we live in.

As writers is it common for us to give our characters a piece of ourselves? JK Rowling gave Harry Potter her birthday. Is it a conscious decision? I know that for lots of mine I didn’t even realise I was doing it till later on.

Just an interesting thought that I’ve been left pondering over, and I wondered if anyone else thought it a good or bad thing?

Personally I like the idea because not only will I share my words with others who read my work, but aslo a piece of my soul.

Hello New Friend...

On my way to work a couple days ago, I started a new story. I was thinking, oh god another one, doesn't that make the total 30 or something? (Actually I'm not even sure, I've tried to avoid counting them.)

But the character voice was really strong, and so sure of herself, yet I knew she was vulnerable in other ways. I couldn't just wave her off.
Out came the notebook I was carrying to work with hope of spending some time on a different story, and I began writing down what came to my head.

These are some random extracts from what I've written:

I suppose I've never been like other girls, well not ones I knew anyway. I didn't really share their interests or dreams.
The friends I'd made in year 7 weren't really what I'd call friends, not like the ones I'd seen on TV who were so lovingly loyal. I stuck with this small group because I had no one else, and it was better than eating my packed lunch in the corner of a classroom, waiting for a teacher to catch me.
That defiantly wasn't my best week.
The group I'd fallen into were seen as the 'rebels'. I defiantly wasn't what you called a misfit, but they never seemed opposed to that. Besides, it did them good to associate with me.

That was another thing about school that I hated, I blamed it for taking away the one friend I really cared about. And then that bloody place took away my passion for music. I had never really felt pressured to be good until I went there.

It sucked every last note I had, until I began playing so mechanically that I went home crying. I even went through a period where I was skipping lessons all together.
I suppose I did have a bit of rebellion in me after all.

"Look, here comes vacant Violet," Alisha smirked. I tried not to look too quickly in her direction, but I didn't want to prolong the feeling that came with seeing her. I loved that rush.

Violet was anything but vacant, the other girls had given her that name because she never said anything, and spent most of the lessons looking out the window in a day dreaming haze. That and they were jealous of how beautiful she was.

I suppose I always knew I was gay, even when I had to kiss Kay's older brother in a game of kiss or dare on her 13th birthday. I guess...I guess I just simply knew I liked girls.

There was no big moment of revelation or shock, no fighting it. My Dad even sat me down one day and asked me outright if I was a lesbian.
"Yes," I shrugged. He just nodded and smiled in a sort of contented way.
"Your aunt will be pleased," he said. My Dad's sister, Aunt Hilary, was gay, and extremely proud. I suppose you could say that explains my relaxed attitude over my sexual orientation. Some might even say it's genetic, but what should any of that matter? I am what I am as that song goes.
And every time Violet smiled at me, I couldn't help but wonder if she was what I am too.

Those are just a few things about this character that came into my head and I really enjoyed writing her.

I shared what I wrote with a good friend of mine, and she asked me if this was related to a short story I wrote some time ago. I said that wasn't the intention, then I began to think about that story. Somehow without even realising it I knew the stories were connected.

I wrote down a couple ideas and they all seemed to fit with other random ideas and notes I had jotted down somewhere, hoping I could use them later.
Now this story has been born, and although it will probably just be something I work on when an idea comes, I love it already.

Has anyone else ever had these moments, when you're so intent on working on one thing but something new manages to wangle it's way in, and you sigh but there's excitement rumbling in your belly? (Ok that last part might just be me, though you know what I mean.)

As I have said in a previous post I am always doing it, part of me is surprised how I've managed to finish any story. (That was one of the most satisfying feelings ever.)

Now after sharing that I leave you, wondering which story my fingers will want to write for first.