Greetings, my fellow writers, authors, and friends.
I find it exhilarating when a character becomes more than a Skelton. We, you and I start with an idea, and before you know it, we have become Gods. Yes, we have created the Sahara or perhaps a moon with an atmosphere the Earth’s size that happens to orbit a failed star.
The tension, of course, is, what is the stability of the failed star? How close must the orbit be to a gaseous giant that is only working at twenty percent?
Our Captain ‘Dirk’ is either a lovable single syllable kind of guy, or perhaps it is a fierce redhead who her subordinates refer to as sir.
Somewhere in the pages, our characters become real to us. We see them. We can hear their soft sexy voice or perhaps the shrillness of her commands as she orders the helmsman to face the enemy five times their might.
Having written over 34 novels and then some, I find that my characters come to life in other stories. They call that crossover, but, to me, I think it might be a little deeper.
What if we are creating the perfect lover? When we play god, what if our needs and desires leak out from our axiomatic ink wells and land on our proverbial parchment paper?
Guess what my lovelies, they do. If you want to know someone in an even more intimate way than perhaps their spouse knows them, read what they write.
Even on these blogs, I read many blogs that you all write. You see, pets, if you are following me, the odds of me ever getting a hug or even a handshake are distant. There are a few of you who I wish I could hug; I feel your pain in your words.
I peruse your musings. Some of you keep it very much business and use your blogs to eke out a living.
The truth is I have a company, a job that occupies much of my time. I should be writing murder mysteries inventing a new Sherlock Holmes. We could use a Digital aware investigator, with the charm of an English gentleman, don’t you think?
I write because it removes me from this world. My characters, for better or worse, are all parts of me. My god, I think I know where they came up with the story for Cybil.
Some poor bastard fell off his trolley, and they left him or her with a pen and paper.
I have read many of your posts. Some made me laugh, some cringe, and others cry. The world we currently live in sucks in so many ways. I would count those ways, but that is counterproductive to who I am as a person. To me, the glass is half full. It must be.
How do we not fall off our trolley?
If you are young and healthy, I think you go about your life. I believe that living in fear will create toxicity within you, much like harboring hate will. Those of you who have written such blogs, you know I am speaking with you. Notice I did not say at you. From me to you, this is a gesture of friendship and love from a stranger. I share what I do, so you know that you are not alone.
Like so many others, these words are much more revealing than if I were walking down Main Street anywhere, naked. Our Body is but a house for our soul.
My relatives come from the other side of the pond. Winston Churchill is in my family tree. I’m not too fond of cigars, but brandy, now we both could agree on that. I can picture him and I sitting in a library sipping brandy while discussing what must happen to save the country.
My characters are all parts of my soul, from my cheeky redhead in Presidential Assassins to Don in The Saga of the Starduster.
My god; what fun that was to be abducted by aliens! To trek across the voids of space to wake up in a space station in another Galaxy. Don, part of me, was kidnapped by a ship full of nudists. Can you imagine nude aliens?
Kelly, she is part of me too. She is the part that takes no shit from anyone. Trust me; I have that side. Unlike many of my writer friends, I love to shoot guns. From skeet to competitive target shooting, a bad guy does not stand a chance in hell should he or she trespass. That is one reason I can never return to where my cousin did so much, for so many, to have it all taken away by so few.
To be stripped of my right to bear arms is unconscionable.
Presidential Assassins is a thriller and a half, with sex and action. Much more action but damn, Kelly is …mmmm. It is too bloody bad Kelly could not get turned loose today.
There are other novels, some very naughty and some nicer. My point is, all of those characters are parts of my Cybil.
When I am at conferences, I don’t wear a badge that says TWScott. I rather like that incognito mode. You see, some might only read the naughty novels and think I am less of a person than they are.
That is why we use pen names, so the judgmental assholes of the world don’t piss in our cheerios. Yes, we walk among you mere mortals, so beware. The truth of it is we all have our bedroom face and thoughts. Those who would look at you or I, and think less of us should look into the mirror.
I hope this epistle brings you some comfort, some joy, and some laughs. I meant what I said about not being alone. There is much more that ties us together than tears us apart. Those who preach hate on the cable channels are the assholes you should gird your loins to avoid. Someone is paying them to spread lies, misinformation, and well, propaganda.
Much love -TW