Stephen King said, “We are writers, and we never ask each other where we get our ideas; we know we don’t know.” Not to align myself with King because I’m not THAT good, but he’s right. I have no idea where the hell what I just wrote came from.
My plan was to finish editing on Sacred Blood and Sacred Honor before starting on Sacred Heart. But I just felt compelled to write out part of a chapter. So I made another pot of coffee (I don’t think that thing is ever off, literally), grabbed my computer, and started typing.
Before I knew it, a plot twist I did not anticipate came out. It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. Then another, well, not a twist, but something I didn’t plan or expect happened. I may as well be reading this chapter as a reader who picked up the book for the first time.
I can hardly claim this is my story. I am simply the medium through which the story tells itself. When it decides to tell me what’s going to happen, then I stop thinking for myself, listen to what’s being told to me, and tap away. This is when the best scenes end up typed out.
To non-writerly folk, and maybe some who are writerly, this probably sounds nutty. But it’s true. I feel like a gift has been given to me in the form of a story with characters I love very much.
This is no longer my story. It is truly Juliette and Tristan’s story.