Okay, so I know I've mentioned it before, but I think if I didn't write I'd be tossed in the loony bin for talking to people who aren't really there. I'm only half-kidding. Characters for my stories talk to me. Sometimes, my brain feels like a huge high-rise condo. On this floor are the characters from the circus stories. On this floor, C# characters. That kind of thing. They talk to me and tell me their stories or just wander around my head so I can get to know them a bit. Right now, one of them is pissing me off.
You see, the whole time I was brainstorming and drafting Technical Difficulties
(Book 1 of my series Etudes in C#) this particular character kept jumping in front of my protagonist (Catherine) and saying, "You don't want to talk about her. She's boring. I'm studly and awesome and you would love to do a story about me. Do you need anything more than me me me? No, you don't." (Okay, so I'm paraphrasing...his voice is much more unctuous and promises dark things.) I put him in his place (as the male lead and comic character that my betas have fallen in love with) and merrily finished book 1. So, I'm skipping book 2 for now because book 3 is in my head and refuses to go away. Besides, so much of Book 2 sets up Book 3... I want to get the later one out first. (Doing so is helping me solidify things about 2, too.) Anyway, Book 3 is centered on this camera whore character, Marius. I sat down to work on it and asked him to come talk to me.
He's being a little mopey bitch and clamming up on me. Why? Because he wants some ravishing hero story (which would be flat out lying, by the way), and I refuse to give it to him. What I have is better--way better!--than an indulgent bodice ripper (which is what he wants). He gets to grow, change and discover things about himself while maintaining some mystery. I try to tell him that the ladies dig a guy with depth, but he just mopes in the corner.
He'll thank me for this. Really.
...see? This is what it's like in my head. (On good days. You don't want to be around on bad days. Hell, I don't want to be around on bad days!) This is why I have to write.
It protects my sanity.
Or at least makes my insanity socially acceptable.