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You’re seeing this preamble because you’re ‘reblogging’. As the creating author of this post, I ask that you please respect my copyrights. How, you ask? In the following manner:

1) keep the title I gave this post;

2) display my name, Ryl Mandus, as its author; and

3) create a functioning link-back to the originating post on this blog,

By all means, quote me if you need to. Someday I may be in the position to return the favor.

Good writing,

— Ryl

There’s a storyline I’ve been working on a long time.  The seeds for this string of stories first came to me while Ben and I were on our honeymoon in San Francisco, and over the last few years I’ve been churning out the word count.

Here’s the scary part:  for some time now my characters have been interacting with me.  They intrude on my conversations with flesh and blood people.  They invade my dreams.  Champing at the bit, they pounce on me as I wake each morning.  They argue with me, refusing to speak, think or behave out of (what they consider to be) character.

Repeatedly, I’ve had to rewrite huge chunks of manuscript because of the shenanigans of these imaginary people.  They even force me to use British spelling.

I’ll confess, all that had me worrying about myself until I came across this:

“Whether we start with a story or with a character, let’s face it — we writers of fiction are alike in one way.  We’re a mighty strange breed.  We view the world differently.  We walk around with voices and shadowy figures in our heads.  We tend to stare out windows, mumble to ourselves.  The Normals can’t begin to understand us.  Only our first cousins, the actors, can come close to matching our eccentricities.  For we share the same goal: bringing characters to life.”

The quote above is an excerpt is from Page 2 of:
Getting into Character: Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn from Actors
by Brandilyn Collins

John Wiley & Sons, Inc., NY
ISBN 0-471-05894-7

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