I’m an introvert. That means a lot of things. But there are a few things it doesn’t mean, misconceptions perpetuated by our extraverted counterparts who just don’t understand how we function. Here are a few:
I’m quiet. Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not. Depends on the situation. But being an introvert doesn’t mean I’m afraid to speak. In fact, I love public speaking. If you want to engage an introvert in conversation, skip the weather small talk and get them onto a subject they enjoy. They may never stop. (more…)
That makes me sound agoraphobic. I’m not. I just need a reason to go somewhere, a purpose. I’m not an aimless wanderer — I’m a purposeful wanderer.
And so I wandered to the craft store and Starbucks. On my way back, loaded down with a big bag of yarn and a giant cup of coffee, I was pulling out my keys to enter my apartment building when I saw it. I had no idea what it was at first. I had a horrible moment where I thought it might be a dead animal. (more…)
Which is odd, because I write fiction. Or maybe that explains everything.
The thing is, I crave authenticity. But authenticity is hard to find in fiction, especially when it comes to characters and endings.
Much too often, the characters are simple stereotypes or completely lack depth. They’re missing the motivation for their actions or any true personality. I’m a big fan of personality. I want characters to be quirky and full of life, like real people are. I want them to talk like real people. Instead what I hear coming out of their mouths are the words the author shoves in there. (more…)