Ever had characters stuck in your head who never go away? I do, and I can't get rid of them. I will never write a story about them. They do not belong in anything I am currently working on where I can insert them as secondary characters. So, why won't they leave me alone?
When I hear one speak to me, I will at least give him a name so he will shut up and stop disturbing my thoughts. Another chimes in with her toothy grin and I tell her to go away. She laughs, slapping her knee like I'd made some funny ass comment. I give her a name and ask her to leave. She refuses.
This is my last effort to get these demons to find a home elsewhere. The only way I can get them to shut up and leave me alone is to write about them. I'm giving you short, sweet blurbs to introduce them and all their obnoxious, narcissistic drama.
Cleavis Johnson works at the local marina. He operates the boat-lift and when boats are not docking after a long day at sea, Cleavis sits on the wooden benches outside the storefront, waiting for the next vessel to approach. He'll smoke his pipe, his fat fingers almost covering the entire bowl. Cleavis is a big man and when he talks, his lips barely touch, probably in order to accommodate his oversized teeth. Even though I have no place for him, he continues to smoke his pipe and talk about all kinds of things which have nothing to do with me or my novel.
Betty Pickerton lost her two front teeth in a bar fight when she was 22 years old. She couldn't afford dental work, but once she turned 30 she didn't care anymore. She had already landed a life-long mate, Johnny Ray. Johnny died in a hunting accident two weeks before they were fixing to get hitched. Now she's 52 years old and guards her 12 x 55 trailer with a sawed off shotgun to keep out the riff raff. When there is a demand for Deliverance, The Reunion, I will consider a spot for you, Betty.
Chesney James dropped out of high school to take care of her alcoholic mother. When she's not decked out in studded, black leather with her hair gelled into five equal spikes, she's holed up in her room cutting on herself. She threatens to take her life if I don't write about her. So, here it is, I'm writing about her. Now, Chesney, I don't write emo stories, so please, please, PLEASE, shut it!
Carrie Chiles works at the Foxy Lady Lounge as a dancer. She won't turn down a good offer when solicited during private sessions in the back. What she does after working hours is her business, literally. She has this notion that if I write about all her sordid deeds, I could make a crap-load of money from all the horny housewives who purchased copies of 50 Shades of Gray. Carrie, I do not write erotica. And even if I did, I don't do sloppy seconds.
Who are some of the characters that disturb your thoughts while you are crafting your novel? Why do you think they are there and what do you think they are looking for?