Picking A Brain
There’s a delicate balance between picking someone’s brain and razing it. I still haven’t figured that one out, just sayin’.
The reason I mention this is because over the weekend, I tied my poor mother to a chair and
crushed picked her brain because I needed help with a plot idea I’ve been mulling over for several weeks. I knew how I wanted my new mythological characters to be now, what kind of powers I wanted them to have, and even how they hook up. That was the easy part.
What I needed was a history. I hold a degree in History; nothing fancy, just a B.A. and you’d think it would be easy. Sure, I totally have an idea of twisting human history to suit my purposes, but I needed a whole background story on these beings so I could figure out what they were fighting for. That’s where Mom came in. She’s pretty twisted, did I mention that? I know she’s the reason I write weird stuff.
Anyway, I picked at her for two hours, shooting questions at her like arrows while I pinned a bright light on her. “Vere do zees people come from? Vat do they do? Vhy do they do it?” You get the idea. However painful as it sounds (and yes, I wouldn’t even let her go to the bathroom until I was finished with her), she enjoyed herself. I think.
Will I use everything she came up with? Most likely not, but her wild thoughts and ideas helped spark my own, leaving me with a burning need to get. This. Story. Down. Will October be the month I write another full-length novel? Possibly. Will I tie her down and demand more thoughts? Maybe. Will others feel the sharp edge of my inquisitive mind tearing at them like a dozen claws? I refuse to answer that question…*rubs her hands together*
It kind of makes me feel like the Skeksis from The Dark Crystal. Hey! I know! Would you like a seat in front of this pretty crystal I found? Bwahaha!