On writing post-Liza

Liza, the protagonist of the Bones of Faerie trilogy, has grown up in a world where pretty much every plant that grows is trying to kill her, and where the people are only somewhat more trustworthy. This has made her a bit … cautious. On edge. Liza looks at every last new thing she encounters as a potential danger and also a potential weapon, examines its possible uses, works through its possible consequences. Her ability to do this is one of the things that’s kept her alive.

But I’m writing a new character now (Nate, meet blog readers; blog readers, meet Nate) who has grown up in our world, where the density of things trying to kill him is considerably lower than it is in Liza’s, and where until very recently, the people nearest to him were actually pretty trustworthy. Which means I have to readjust my Liza-set character expectations.

Like in the current scene. Someone says to Nate, “We need to talk.”

Liza-in-my-head thinks: This someone wants information. Information is both a weapon and a thing of value. I must use it, trade with it. Liza agrees to talk, but only in exchange for various things: promises of safety, of food and shelter, of information of her own.

Almost, I let Nate echo these Liza-thoughts. After writing two Liza books in two years, Liza-thoughts are pretty instinctive, a part of me as well as my writing. But I catch myself.

Instead Nate, who is not Liza and who is developing a personality of his own, shrugs and leans casually against the nearest wall.

“So talk,” he says.