You know, they straightened out the Mississippi River in places, to make room for houses and livable acreage. Occasionally the river floods these places. “Floods” is the word they use, but in fact it is not flooding; it is remembering. Remembering where it used to be. All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Writers are like that: remembering where we were, what valley we ran through, what the banks were like, the light that was there and the route back to our original place. It is emotional memory — what the nerves and the skin remember as well as how it appeared. And a rush of imagination if is our “flooding.”Toni Morrison, excerpt from “The Site of Memory,” What Moves at the Margin: Selected Nonfiction (via commovente)
Sometimes it’s like I’ve lived a thousand lives in a thousand places. I’m born. I live. I die. And always, there’s the Doctor.
Make it messy.
Often, when we write, we think about what’s there. It’s new and shiny in your mind, so that often translates to new and shiny on the page. But you need to scratch it up, throw some dirt on it. Make it used. Give it scars.
Do the same with your characters. It’s our scars that make us real, that prove we’ve been in this world.