it all makes perfect sense.
When a good friend reminded me years ago that my main character, DC, feels the same way about planes as I do about writing I agreed and then let it go. But this week as I have been trying to do as much pre-writing and prep work as I can on the book I am learning how I know tons of stuff about everyone else in the book EXCEPT the main character. I know the main character wants to know about his dad. I know all the bad guys. I know what a father is willing to do for the son he loves. I know that some people don’t make good parents and that the best parents aren’t always those you’re related to by blood. I know who’s willing to help the MC reach his goal and who will throw up the blockades. I know the very blackest moment, though I’m not sure what the reaction will be. But I still hardly know the main character.
Then I realized that if DC and his love of planes is a mirror of me and my love of writing, then DC is standing for me in some way and for some reason I am afraid to acknowledge that part of myself. All that therapy gone to waste.
I shared that thought with a friend who came back with an answer that had me doing the “duh” and forehead slapping routine. She pointed out that I have always had a desperate need to know my father but because my mom doesn’t remember/won’t talk about it, his memory is lost to me. It’s over. Done. And there’s not a darn thing I can do about it.
And there’s the difference between me and DC. I have to get in touch with that part of me who screams for the truth, but may never get it. DC will keep searching and fighting until he DOES find the truth.
It will be total jealousy and grief when DC gets his answer, and I don’t.