So, tonight, I have found myself writing a kissing scene and a rescue from a burning building with a playlist that rattled between Angel by Massive Attack and Fire by the Crazy World of Arthur Brown. I have also found myself deciding that my main character is not a person I would particularly like to meet in real life. I fear he holds up a mirror to humanity that I do not find terribly flattering but, at the same time, I worry that his mirror is more accurate than I would like.
Basically, well, after that conversation I wrote last I began to wonder about him. I already knew that he was going to rescue his love interest from a burning building and that his own ineptitude in romantic affairs coupled with the near death experience of his paramour would lead them to cheat on him. I knew that. I also knew that, in order to make the relationship believeable, there would need to be something physical beyond hands around shoulders and hints in dialogue. What I was most certainly not prepared for was what happened.
The kissing scene held a predatory passion that I did not know the character possessed and the fire rescue carried the discovery, and the deliberate leaving for dead, of a young girl trapped in a room. The latter one leaves me with the most qualms. I don't like it very much, though William was perfectly happy to ignore it afterwards, and even though I wrote it... well, it doesn't feel very much like me. I think I'm channelling Billy-boy, and it's not an experience I relish!
On a happier note, the plague has passed the household, the children are sleeping better and so I have time to write again. Hurrah. 3,468 words today and a pizza. That's worth celebrating.