I have been asked why I started writing at the age of 62. It is a peculiar time of life to start writing, particularly when it appears that I write YA or slightly younger type fantasies. It is easier to explain why I write books for a slightly younger audience than it is to explain why I write at all.
I write by the seat of my pants, as the jargon goes, which means I write without carefully plotting out my story, developing my characters, plan subplots and the like. I just start writing and see where it takes me. I am aided by my partners in crime, the characters whose stories I tell. They give them to me, from multiple viewpoints, and I figure out how to write the scene. The characters talk to me and in fact live in my head. They won’t tell me the whole story until I have written a fair amount of it. They are skeptical that I will finish the story if I know the ending too soon. My characters tend to come from worlds where courtesy is important and there is little to no cursing, minimal violence, and a great desire to get along. The stories arise when something challenges these things.
I started writing when I finally had an idea that was not derivative. While I was working and wanting to write, every thought I had was born of an unseemly match of Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, or whatever the equivalent was over the last twenty years. But I retired, got my head out of the legal/governmental field where logic and plain talk were prized above all and relaxed. In that state, I had an idea that popped out of nowhere, and began to grow before my eyes. I started writing. It was shortly thereafter that I found that my awakening was due to a character who needed to have her story told. That character is named Freddy, and I may tell you a little bit about her in another post.