Have I ever mentioned what a weird imagination I have? It’s s-t-r-a-n-g-e.
To start at the beginning of what I’m talking about, I’ll have to rewind a ways. A few years ago, I decided to write a book about a werewolf. (It’s called MAKE ME HOWL.) But I didn’t want a normal, doom and gloom, dark and terrible werewolf. I wanted a fun, cute, funny werewolf.
So I did what every fiction writer has to do, no matter what genre she’s writing. I created my own world.
For a while I called it
ChickWolf-Lit. Jazzy (my heroine) is a fashion consultant who also happens to be a werewolf. She has the gene, so she was born that way. (Her maternal grandmother was a werewolf, too.)
And since the time she was potty trained, she’s been able to keep from going “animal” most of the time. Even a full moon doesn’t bother her.
The only time she accidently goes “wild” is when she’s out of control. She can shift whenever she wants to, though.
She has a twin sister. The two of them have their own “twin speak” which is telepathic, but it gives Jazzy a grinding headache when they use it.
Here’s a little problem I have. My characters in my books are real to me. (I spend so much time with them, they’re like family.)
There’s one thing I discovered in my world: the gene that causes people to be shape shifters turns them into wolves.
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A few days ago I joined a paranormal group on Facebook. Most of them are writers, and let me tell you, every one has an imagination to match (or outshine) mine.
So I got to thinking . . . what if several shape shifting writers were in a room together. There would be women in pjs and furry slippers (those who don’t have day jobs) women in business suits (they have high powered jobs and write on the side) women dressed in filmy scarves in wild colors with pink hair (who think big-name authors should look like that) and the rest in jeans and t-shirts. (My uniform of choice.)
Can you see us on couches, in chairs, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall? And drinks? Yeah, we’d have them. Coffee, Diet Dr. Pepper, wine . . . everyone would bring their own poison. (Jazzy and I are DDP girls.)
So all of us are sitting there together, and we get to talking about the shapes our characters change into. The Jazzy in me laughs hysterically.
“You guys must be writing cartoon shape shifters,” she says between gasps and giggles. “Because REAL shape shifters change into werewolves.”
“Your kind of shape shifters come from a virus that results in a bite from an out-of-control werewolf who’s born with the gene. (My apologies to other shape shifting authors. Once my world is twirling, there’s no stopping it.) “So they have to be werewolves!”
“NO WAY!!!” The bejeweled, bangled, pajama-ed, scarved t-shirted, blue jeaned and pink haired women jump on me.
“I didn’t say that. Jazzy did!” I squeak, trying to be heard.
“Well, give her this from us!” Smack in my eye.
And the battle is on.
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LOL! This post has gone on much longer and gotten even weirder than I intended.
Does your mind ever get away from you like that? Mine does it all the time because I get to thinking how everyone imagines everything differently. The animals shifters change into, where they come from, how much control they have, everything.
That’s what makes reading so much fun!
BTW: After the battle? Do I imagine myself standing on the heap, hands joined over my head in triumph?
No. Way. (And it’s not pretty.)
Jazzy had a good time, though.