It has turned out to be one of those days.
My protagonist and I are eyeing each other from across the page. He wants to be the quintessential hero, filled with lovable quirks and easy-to-forgive flaws, but equipped with hidden strength and talent ready to burst forth and save the bloody day.
No. No little man! I’m the writer! Now I’m stuck coz i don’t like you. Where is the timid, insecure, exasperating individual that i started out with? Leave already!
Maybe you should have been a woman. Maybe you would deal with the last scene better.
Back to my Madea routine. Who knew my issues with hero, savior-like characters would surface in my writing? Maybe this presents the opportunity to rectify all the irritating qualities Hercules presents…