Character Development?

I have run into a most unusual problem.

I am writing a story that I wanted to write because it was interesting to me. It is a piece that pushes my boundaries as a writer in a new way. It is something that I said I would never write because the market is over-saturated with the subject, but I was inspired and have taken the subject matter in a different direction from anything that I have ever seen.

No, you can't know what it's about yet. It's not even on the "My Books" page here because I have just under a chapter written as of this blog post and I don't wanna spoil it.

Anyway, the main character, I guess she is the protagonist, insofar as you could say that this particular story has one, is going through hell. She is a good person, overall. She comes from a well-to-do family but she chooses to be different, to not be the spoiled brat that everyone expects her to be. So she has this major change of heart very early on in the story.

She is a likable character. I like her. I like writing her. I have liked giving her a past, despite her future currently looking very, VERY bleak.

And this brings me to the problem. I have gotten accidentally attached to her. I tried very hard to just tell myself that she is a work of fiction, that she exists in my head and that she is not real. Her suffering is not real. Unfortunately, to me, when I am writing about her, she is as real as I am.

And I like her.

So my dilemma basically boils down to the fact that she is essentially being tortured by the story. Bad things happen, very bad things, and she suffers greatly throughout the novel. That makes it sound very dark and horrible, but there's no other way to describe her situation without spoiling the book. I guess that I can clarify that it is not literal torture, but the events that happen are torturous to read.

And very hard to write.

As I said in my previous blog, I have a set of core beliefs that define who I am underneath all the pompous swagger and posturing that I seem to put on. I'm not a bad person. I don't advocate violence towards others. Or violence in general. But this story is brutal and graphic. I have done a lot of research, still am doing some of that research, and the gritty realism I hope, will show through in the work. And I am not ashamed to be writing this at all. It is an interesting story and her suffering is not brought on by another person, technically, unless you count me.

My problem is that I have connected with this character, despite knowing that she isn't real to anyone but me. I feel that I have portrayed her and built her up in my head enough to make her believable and I hope that it will translate well into the story. That is the ultimate goal for any story, right? Anyway, I am sitting here with my notes, with my story for this person - I am gonna call her Jane Doe for now - and I am having a difficult time.

Jane doesn't deserve what I am writing about. Jane is a relatively good person. She does things with altruism in mind and even when things are at their worst, she is thinking about other people, rather than herself.

So here I sit, staring at this work that I am putting so much thought and love and care into, knowing that part of the story will be exposition with the intent to make my readers love Jane Doe as much as I do, and then the brutal, life changing problem arises and your hearts all break. That is the goal. I want to give a different perspective, but in order to do this, I have to suffer along with Jane.

And I AM suffering. I am having so much trouble writing this part that I can only manage to write maybe a paragraph at a time. I never really thought of myself as a delicate person, or that I have 'delicate sensibilities' but there are things that honestly make my stomach turn. And writing this sad, heartbreaking part of the story is one of them.

The point, I suppose, is that I am looking for advice.

How do you distance yourself from a character you have made and love and is only (currently) real to you so that you can sleep at night? And how shall I distance myself enough from her to keep going on with the story without making myself cry?

I KNOW the suffering isn't real. I KNOW that Jane Doe isn't real. I KNOW that this is fiction, and that I am the one creating this world and this story, and that I could, theoretically change it at any time, but I am still connected. I am still allowing it to happen in my own megalomaniac sort of way. 

So how do I make this bearable to write?

Arguments againt Sleeping Naked

What a novel concept, sleeping naked. We are so assured of our safety in our own homes that we have no problem revealing ourselves to the bed when we sleep. It's a relatively new concept too, I think. Sleeping indoors in a building I mean.

But we're protected from the elements indoors, so there's no question of having to protect yourself from rain or wind or snow. We open windows if we're too hot inside our buildings but even then it isn't like we need to protect ourselves entirely from the elements. That's why we build with wood and stone and brick.

But think about it, sleeping naked is probably the worst thing that you can do.

For starters, if you're like me, then you're an insomniac. I can guarantee that your roommates won't appreciate seeing you naked at 3 a.m. sitting on the couch, eating Cheetos and watching infomercials while your eyes bleed. Especially if you live with family. And while sitting naked at the computer is fun for a while, it tends to get boring and drafty after six hours of youtube and LOLcats.

Secondly, if you're an insomniac, you will probably need your phone with you so that you can chat with all your insomniac friends. Where are you gonna stick y our phone while you're doing insomniac things, like eating Cheetos. No pockets. So you'll want at least a place to hold your phone while your hands are busy.

My third argument against sleeping naked is probably the most logical of the lot. What if your house burned down while you were sleeping? Are you gonna have the time to find your pants before you run out of the house? Are you really gonna wanna be rescued by the firemen in your birthday suit? What if it's the middle of January in Canada when this happens? 40 below with no clothes sucks, trust me.

My fourth argument is this: would you run away with the Doctor in your skivvies? Probably not, and to be honest, unless we're talking 9th incarnation, he'd probably leave you behind. Besides, pockets are an integral part of time travel.

Okay okay, so I'm not making a lot of sense. Sue me, I just wanted to write something. But I'm gonna leave you with a final argument to make you reconsider sleeping naked.

The zombie apocalypse almost invariably strikes in the middle of the night and progresses into the next day. If there's zombies on my front step at 3 a.m. I am sure as hell not fighting my way out of my bedroom in anything less than jeans and a Tshirt. My pajamas are awesome, they have pockets in the pants and are made of flannel and to be honest, the Tshirt I usually sleep in is autographed so at least when I get bitten by a zombie that has broken into my house while I'm asleep, I'll look cool when I turn. I ain't having my nekkid body be shot by a survivor, I want that survivor to know that I was pretty damn cool before I was zombified. And dressing gowns are for sissies and Canadians. :P

Seance

The candles flickered in the chill breeze. The leaves rustling were the only sounds to be heard. It was as quiet as the grave otherwise. The dirt beneath their feet was hard-packed and the persistent wind sent the few fallen leaves scuttling across the ground around them. They were nervous, this was the first time they had ever attempted anything like this, but it seemed to be the only logical means of closing the case.

They were desperate. The police had failed so far and with no new leads on such a high profile case, there was pressure coming from all sides to finally give the family some closure.

So they had called her in. Starlight Ravenchild. A self-proclaimed witch and practitioner of helpful services. She had assisted other precincts on other cases, and apparently she was 100% accurate, even with knowing only specific names or dates. She never seemed to need much information and despite her unconventional methods, she had proven results. The family of the missing child were all for it, anything to recover their precious heiress.

The chief had snorted about it, claiming it to be some newfangled new-age B.S. that only the rich and gullible fell for. The chief was a born-again Christian and would have no part in any of this devilry.So he sent McGill and Tomashino to sit in on this one, godless heathens he had said. McGill laughed and pointed out, behind their boss`s back, that he was Irish-Catholic but would do it anyway.

The cops had met up before the designated time to secure the area, again. They didn't really think that anyone would try anything, it had remained very hush hush and besides, this was a kidnapping for ransom, not a mob trial or something that required constant media attention. Despite the family being rich, they weren't celebrities and they certainly didn't act like some other heiresses did.

Ravenchild and the parents arrived at the same time. They were all pale, but the cops suspected that Ravenchild did it on purpose. She wore all black under a white robe emblazoned with black stars and crescent moons. It was a lovely outfit, perfect for the Hallowe'en season. The cops exchanged glances, not really sure how they felt about this whole thing after all. Starlight Ravenchild stopped in front of the police officers and gave them both a critical look.

"You are the ones in charge of protecting us tonight?" She asked, her voice heavy with a Romanian accent that reminded McGill of a bad Hollywood gypsy.

"Yeah, from any human threats." McGill replied gruffly.

Starlight nodded. "Good. But you will need to join us in the circle first and foremost. No one will be here to harm us."

"Sure, lady." Tomashino said with a brusque nod.

"Follow me." Starlight trilled, chanting as she walked past the police officers towards the cleared patch of ground just beyond the last row of gravestones.

The missing girl's parents followed immediately but the police officers gave each other skeptical, worried looks.

"I don't like this, McGill."

McGill nodded. "I know, Vinnie. The whole thing smells like Phooey, but honestly, what else can we do?"

With a resigned sigh, the detectives followed suit. They found Starlight drawing on the ground with chalk she seemed to produce from nowhere. The rich parents held each other tightly as they watched with wide, teary eyes. Starlight continued to chant, her voice rising and falling and ululating in a foreign language no one understood. Clearly, she had performed this very ritual before.

"The words are complete." Starlight said, standing. "And the circle is drawn and cast. Now, all of you, hold hands, complete the circle with your minds and bodies. Pour your energy into finding this poor young girl."

"Natascha." The mother said. "Her name is Natascha."

Starlight nodded and began to speak again in her strange tongue. McGill and Tomashino glanced at each other and clasped hands, McGill holding Starlight's hand and Tomashino bravely taking Natascha's mother's hand.

They felt like they had been there for an hour, listening to Starlight chant and Natascha's parents weep. Every now and then an English word would slip through and McGill and Tomashino would exchange skeptical glances. It was useless, they agreed silently. It was all hokey and no one was going to get any answers tonight.

Just as McGill was ready to call the whole thing off, the wind began to pick up moving clockwise around them, and only around the little circle. It began to gust violently around them, growing stronger until it was whipping Ravenchild's robe around her body. The roar of the wind became almost unbearable and only Starlight's shouts of 'don't break the circle!' kept McGill at his post.

Suddenly, a pale, ghostly light began to ooze from the ground in the circle. White and shining it leaked out of the ground like water, pooling in the center of the circle and slowly building up on itself until it was a shapeless blob of glowing light.

"Spirit!" Ravenchild called out above the roaring wind. "We are here tonight to ask you about these grieving parents' child. Natascha has been stolen from her bed! The human law enforcement can not find her! We are here to ask you to show us the way to find this poor innocent child! Show us your true shape so that we may look upon the truth of what you tell us!"

The blob of light and energy began to shift, taking shape of a vaguely humanoid figure. It was too tall to be Natascha's ghost, the girl was young, this was the spirit of a full grown person. He growled under his breath, all his instincts working against him. It was unnatural, inhuman, dead, even! He tried to block out the words and the hallucination, but he couldn't.

And then it was over.

McGill felt himself drop to his knees, shaking and weak. Natascha's parents were clutching each other and sobbing. Ravenchild was chanting again. Only Tomashino seemed to have his wits about him. He was on his radio.

"All units, she's alive she's being held captive at..."

McGill passed out.

He awoke in the hospital, shaking still and disoriented. His partner was sitting next to his bed, but there was something odd. Like a shape floating next to him, glowing and white.

"What..?" McGill tried to ask.

"We found her." Tomashino replied. He looked gaunt, like he'd lost ten pounds very quickly.

"How long have I been out?" McGill asked, focusing only on the white blob floating by his partner's head.

"24 hours." Vinnie assured him. "But we found her."

"Natascha?"

"Yup." Vinnie nodded. "Alive and unbroken." He added.

McGill squinted. "There were others, weren't there?" He asked.

"Yeah." Vinnie paled a little more. "But they're all safe now." He stood up. "I gotta get some coffee, okay? I'll be back in a bit and we can uh... Debrief. Or something."

"Okay..." McGill mumbled watching the shining object follow his partner out of the room.

Moments later, Starlight Ravenchild appeared in the doorway. "You see them now too, don't you?" She asked mysteriously.

"See what?" McGill demanded.

"Spirits."

"So what if I'm still hallucinating?" He replied defensively.

Ravenchild smiled through her red lips. Her pearly teeth showing slightly. "You will accept them in time. And they will help you more and more." Her smile turned seductive. "You will ask for my help soon. To understand." And with that she left.

McGill laid back against his bed, staring at the growing number of hallucinations on the ceiling. All white and fuzzy and glowing. All silently crying out for his help...