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I’ve discovered that writing fiction can be an unnerving experience. Things just seem to happen when I write. For instance, I was writing along this morning and got to a passage where two of my characters meet for the first time. I had given a cursory description of the man — tall, dark and handsome, of course. A little later I was trying to describe his uneasiness and wrote “he cracked the knuckles on his long dark fingers.” With just that word ‘dark’, my character had morphed from Caucasian to African-American. I hadn’t planned on it, but I left it, thinking that it would give yet another dimension to what I was doing.

I’m not big on surprises, but most of the twists that come from a mistyped word or an unconscious thought have turned out to be good for my stories. The second jolt I got this morning involves the same character. He receives some information that in and of itself is troubling, frustrating. When I typed in his response to the news, his speech centered on the name of a man (another character) — not the situation! Aha! I said to myself. There’s a history of resentment between these two; I wonder what it is?

And that, folks, is how I write my books. I now have a relationship to explore that I never dreamed existed. I’m thankful but it is unnerving.