Someone once told me I was beautiful and it made me cry. It was a long time ago now but I remember that moment so clearly. I’m not beautiful. Certainly in my minds eye, I am far form that which is called beauty.
Yet to be offered this gift, this unexpected and unfamiliar compliment, touched me deeply and but a crinkle in me. When I write I love crinkles in my characters. They need to be ruffled and shaken a little to breathe life into their inky frames.
But a crinkle in me? I had spent so much of my life avoiding so many things, working hard to push past the open door, afraid to look in for fear I might like what I felt I could never have. A crinkle? A crease in my armour meant someone had peeked beneath my skin and whispered in my ear. It was ok to imagine and dream again like I had done as a child. Hope was not a thing to fear and that simple crinkle, that unexpected wrinkle changed me.
I create characters in my books, that daren’t hope or desperately cling to hope when all is lost.
Someone I love dearly put a crinkle in me and now I sneak them in my books. I was afraid of creasing the fabric of my mind but there was nothing to fear. Best thing that ever happened to me really and hopefully best thing I can do for my characters.
I don’t normally offer advice, I’m not qualified, but if I did, maybe it would be to allow the occasional crinkle in your life.
