M.A.Thompson
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Aug 10, 2002
- Posts
- 159
My parents will deny this, but growing up, I was not their favorite child. In my home, it was always my older sister taking all the glory, getting all the praise. Maybe you can relate. Still, unless your folks were satanists or something, few parents would actually confess to liking one of their children more than another (no offence to the satatnists in the room).
So where am I going with this?
As authors, we give birth to new children everyday. Stories, yes, they are our offspring, but what I am talking about are the characters we craft to inhabit our tales, articulate our dialog, live and breath our plots. With each new sitting at our word processors we endure the mental pains of labor (without benefit of anesthesia, short of a nice cocktail that is) and deliver newborn characters, sometimes in multiple numbers, into our 8 ½ x 11 worlds. We feed them, diaper them and teach them to walk before setting them free to live out our imaginations on paper.
Some live up to our lofty expectations, leaving us satisfied and proud (much like my sister made my parents), some let us down and embarrass us (why couldn’t my folks just love me for who I was?), regardless, they are still our babies.
So, of all your “children”, who is your favorite and why?
Who is your least favorite? Why did that one let you down?
I thought this would make a fun thread. I am still contemplating my answer (as my folks would say, “He is never ready for anything!!!”) and will get back to you kind folks with my own reply!!!!
Emmay.
So where am I going with this?
As authors, we give birth to new children everyday. Stories, yes, they are our offspring, but what I am talking about are the characters we craft to inhabit our tales, articulate our dialog, live and breath our plots. With each new sitting at our word processors we endure the mental pains of labor (without benefit of anesthesia, short of a nice cocktail that is) and deliver newborn characters, sometimes in multiple numbers, into our 8 ½ x 11 worlds. We feed them, diaper them and teach them to walk before setting them free to live out our imaginations on paper.
Some live up to our lofty expectations, leaving us satisfied and proud (much like my sister made my parents), some let us down and embarrass us (why couldn’t my folks just love me for who I was?), regardless, they are still our babies.
So, of all your “children”, who is your favorite and why?
Who is your least favorite? Why did that one let you down?
I thought this would make a fun thread. I am still contemplating my answer (as my folks would say, “He is never ready for anything!!!”) and will get back to you kind folks with my own reply!!!!
Emmay.