What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done? Skydiving? Pish-posh. Giving birth? Thousands of women do that every day and live to tell the tale. No. What’s truly frightening?

Yeah, that.

Pulling your deepest, most inner demons to the light of day and slapping them in the middle of your story.

Okay, Boatswain is already shaking her head because her characters tend to talk more amongst themselves and she writes it down like an Imperial Secretary; however, I’m a Pisces, and therefore, odd, and tend to empathize with just about anything I meet: movies, television series, Hallmark commercials. Doesn’t matter, and obviously it also doesn’t matter that none of the people affiliated with the things I mentioned actually exist. Trifles.

When I write, it’s the same. I have to know my characters enough to empathize with them, to sort of step in their skin and channel them onto the page. When I’m writing from one POV to the other, I am that person. Which is a little frightening, especially if you’re playing a character either not at all like you (the villain) or someone really like you. In both cases, you’re pulling feelings from within you, feelings that therefore exist.

If you’re pretending to be a serial killer, you try to convey the rationalization of why you kill; and if you capture it and put it on the page, you suddenly realize: Dude, I just justified cold-blooded murder. You wonder about yourself…and you definitely stop willy-nilly saying throwaway lines like, “I’m going to kill you” when someone does something to irritate you. Because now you’re thinking, well, obviously I could, how sick am I?

But pretend you write fluffy stories. You’re still going to have a villain. But say it’s a cold-hearted mother-type or the manipulative hussy who’s wreaking havoc at large. You step inside that role, write out this magnificent scene, and waltz off stage left. You look at the scene again, and you think, “I need a shower. Am I that much of a manipulative bitch?” You ask your husband, which is always a bad idea. Oh, sure, he answers it correctly if he has any sense whatsoever (”Of course not, honey”), but deep down, you knew there was not really a right answer here; there was only a wrong one.

So you move onto your heroine, someone in which you can identify, someone who fears rejection—and you pull out all the stops, pull up every bit of drama from your high school prom, crank up the Def Leppard ballads—and write the Blackest Moment where all your heroine’s neuroses bite her in the ass. Then you re-read it, and you realize if anyone from high school reads your book, they will immediately know your heroine is you. Your critique partner reads it—and though she was never in high school with you and therefore is unaware what a complete loser you were—and says: “Wow, this sounds just like you.” It will not matter that your scene does not take place anywhere near a senior prom.

But here’s the thing. Emotion is universal. Communication is about relating to another individual, to be understood, to be accepted, and writing is one of the most basic ways to do that. Love and conflict (i.e. rejection, bias, hate, misunderstandings)—that is universal. Every story ever written can be distilled to one or both of these themes. Emotion is universal, like song; but your voice, like lyrics, is what makes the story yours to tell. Don’t worry that everyone who’s reading your book is thinking “this sounds like her reaction at her high school prom” because it’s much more likely they’re thinking, “God, I’ve so been there.” And that’s what you were shooting for, right?

You as a person are separate from the writing you put on the page. Just because you write about serial killers and nymphomaniacs and God forbid, the woman-superior position, you’re not a killer or a slut—and no one is going to think you are. Okay, some crazy interviewer someday might say, “Where do you get your inspiration for your sex scenes?”—but those are people who don’t understand; and they are certainly not people who should be taken into consideration when you’re putting your words on the public page. Don’t be scared; don’t avoid it because people might think you’re bad or wrong; and don’t judge yourself for writing it. You’re not doing yourself or your characters any favors by holding back. You are not your characters, no matter how much of yourself you might find within them.

Just thought I’d send out a little reassurance in case anyone thought they were turning into a serial killer. Unlikely. Though you might want to take some time to decompress, play with some puppies or try channeling a character whose idea of a dark side is much like Sally Albright.

What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever written and why did it bother you? What author do you think can tap into that Universal Factor, that “I’ve so been there”? Any book or scene that comes to mind? Anyone else wish Santa was blogging about men again? How many just caught on that the Johnny Depp picture has absolutely nothing to do with my blog?