Currently, I'm working with a character who is dealing with serious loneliness.  She has just experienced an irreversible change in a relationship that may be her closest. There is nothing that can rectify this, and there is nothing that could replace it. 

I was thinking today, as I continued reading my book and going about my normal summer activities, that perhaps my character needs me to be a little lonely as I write her. We are drawn together, she and I. 

I'm not entirely sure where this story is going to take me. I'm not really sure about mine either. 

This is the thing. Someone else could write this same basic story. But no one else can write this story. I saw these characters and this plot a certain way. I have felt the loneliness, I've felt the happiness, stolen happiness, as well, that another character feels. I've dealt with waiting and ambiguity. I didn't plan this story like this, but I am qualified to write it. 

I am here.

Just like she is. 

I was talking with my mom today as we were walking. We talked about how much I've grown since last summer, how my experiences and my communion with God have shaped me. 

You know how they talk about nicks and scratches on old furniture? "It gives it character."

I'm getting all scratched and scarred, but it is giving me character, and I am pouring that into my characters. Like anyone else, I didn't want to be where I am. But at the same time, I need to be here. The worst part seems to be over, but even if it isn't, I'm an author in Someone Else's story.

 I've always been considered "quite a character."

True story.