Appearances can be Deceiving, Or, Warning, You Could End up in My Novel!

Writers!

What does a writer look like? How does he or she dress? You might say: “Go look in the mirror.” But that won’t do. Seeing my silly self does nothing to answer the questions of what an author looks like. Inside. Where it really counts, or at the very least, how the unsuspecting can have advance notice.

First Flight, from the Keltoi Pages

I like to go to writer conferences – they are excellent places to learn more about the craft of writing, publishing, and marketing your work. At conferences you also meet other authors. People who walk around like normal beings, but carry worlds inside their heads of marvelous invention. Worlds inhabited by dragons, and people who fly, and individuals who have pointed ears, who talk to trolls, commit murders, solve murders, love, hate, eat bugs, are bugs, ad infinitum. Worlds of fuchsia mists and pink tinged lightning, with islands that float in a sea of time instead of water. Oh, how I love the mind of a writer!

Yet, surely, there should be some kind of warning. I mean – here I am, wandering around with other authors who can twist time, and invent beings. I have a t-shirt that says: “Careful, you could end up in my novel.” Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about. Everything a writer sees, thinks, feels, goes into a big cauldron, is stirred, and then the author sticks her pen into that pot and puts it to paper. Or they thrust their fingers in the pot and hit the computer.

Sopchoppy Stone Age and Primitive Arts Festival, February 2013

My son and I recently went to the Stone Age and Primitive Arts Festival held annually in Sopchoppy, Florida, at the Ochlochonee River State Park. On this day, clouds lowered until the only thing holding them up were white pines and cypress. A constant drizzle puddled the ground. We met many intrepid people determined to have a good time and share their efforts to remind modern folk that were it not for stone chisels, arrow heads, and other such primitive tools, we wouldn’t be here.

One individual will not leave my mind. He stands there, bowler hat shoved down on his head above a halo of wispy white hair sagging damply in the mist. His wide smile reveals a lone brown tooth thrust up from his lower gum. Watery blue eyes, slightly protruding, glint, and are filled with excitement. He has two people listening to tales of how he found the ingredients for staffs, knives, and stone and bone tools he’s made and offers for sale. When we reluctantly left the gentleman to go search among the other presenters, my son looked at me and said: “Mom, he’s so got to be in a book somewhere.” Oh yes, do be careful, you could end up in my novel.

Fiction Among Friends

So here’s the thing – what does an author look like? Shouldn’t there be some kind of indication that you are in the presence of a person who at any moment could take part of your essence, and have a being erupt from your brain like Athena from Zeus’ head? I guess having someone walk in front of the prestigitator of words shouting, “Warning! Warning!” and waving their arms wildly in the air won’t do. Maybe a nice blue aura circling the author’s head with holographic images of the writer’s characters and worlds swirling around in this nimbus for all to see. I like that. Certainly, this would garner immediate attention and provide adequate notice. Decisions must be made. And in the meantime, be warned: you could so end up in my novel!

Imagining the possibilities,

Peggy