I was going to blog about endings because I expected to be working on the end of The Biker’s Wench edits. I’m not there yet (don’t ask), so we’ll save that for next week.

I’ve blogged about this before, but it’s been a topic here and there lately, and while I think I have a handle on it most of the time, yesterday I struggled with it all day long in my head (which wasn’t an easy feat, considering I was dealing with a rather trying day at the day job too).

I’m working on the second Fantasy Ranch novel at the moment, and I wrote the first few chapters quite awhile ago, then had to put them aside while I hashed out my little fictional universe better by finishing the first book. I’ve been posting the material I wrote earlier for my serial chapters, but this week was the first week I needed to start writing new scenes. I’d read through all the previous scenes, thought I had a handle on where the story was going and what the main plot would be....

And then I started writing.

Normally, it doesn’t bother me much when characters take over. I like it when that happens, even if it’s way off track from where I saw the story heading, because it’s always better when the story comes from the characters (ie, my subconscious, creative brain). Always.

Anyways, in the story Betsy has just been left alone with Ian, the man she wants, who has incredible powers of resistance toward her and has just been more or less ordered to keep her safe from the maniac who is after her. I went into the scene thinking they needed to have a conversation where he’d try to convince her she needed his protection, she’d tell him to go jump off a cliff, they’d have a nice little argument and end up with him either sleeping on her couch to protect her, or dragging her off cave-man style (I like to leave my ending options open).

That is so not what happened. You can read the scene here if you’d like, but the gist of it is that instead of having a spectacular temper tantrum, Betsy ends up telling Ian this fascinating story she’s never told anyone before (because really, who would believe it? She knows that.), and implying that there’s something in her past that is Really, Really Bad. So bad she’d rather stay and put her life in danger than run and hide and risk the maniac somehow stumbling across it by accident. So bad she can’t even tell the guy she’s crushed on since they were kids what the big secret is.

Oh, and she didn’t tell me either.

Normally, when a character starts spilling huge secrets like this, I “get” where it’s going while I’m writing, so I can sort of see how the story will meander along a certain path. This time, Betsy was having none of it, and I fought with her all day long about it (in my head. And yes, I refrained from conversing out loud with her. Luckily my characters don’t break the 4^th wall.). I wasn’t sure how I could possibly finish the scene with this huge question mark that could possibly affect the end of the whole story hanging unanswered, at least in my mind. What if I went the wrong way? What if I wrote myself into a box? What if I screwed up the frickin’ Happily Ever After (Nightmare of Epic Proportions!!).

I stewed all afternoon as I worked the day job, seriously annoyed that I was so stymied by this. I don’t get blocked...I think because I work on so many different stories it keeps my brain just flying automatically between them all. But this wasn’t really a full-on block either. It was a crisis of critical thinking.

I was thinking in critical mode, worrying about points Q-Z when I should have been focusing only on point B - the scene in front of me. So what if Betsy’s Really Really Bad Thing gets her tossed in jail at the end. That just won’t be the end – I’ll keep writing until I find it. I was thinking about all these things about her secret that could affect the story, rather than just writing it and having faith that things will all work out.

Because they always do. As long as I trust the characters and record their story as well as I can, I trust they’ll get me to the HEA I need. Really, I just need to trust myself, and that creative side of my brain that comes up with all these stories.

Once I settled down and told Betsy to “take it away”, she did. The final few sentences I’d been struggling with just came right out, and while I still don’t know exactly what it is that Betsy hid with the trunk, she assures me it’s nothing like what I thought it might be. In fact, I sense a plot twist coming later, but I have only a very vague idea of what it might be. And I think it’s better this way, because if I can’t intentionally foreshadow it, I can’t ruin it either by over-thinking it.

You know what this means, don’t you? My creative mind has finally out-witted my logical mind. Might want to stand back. This could get messy if they decide to duke it out...

Do you trust your characters enough to follow them down a rabbit hole, even when it feels like you might be going the wrong way?

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