Recently, there seem to be more changes in my writing.

Not in that light bulb moment but in the way the wind blows against the leaves of a tree. 

The more time I take slowing down, breaking down smaller sections of my book, the more it feels like my characters and I are coming to an understanding. 

Like seeing your long distance friends in person after a long time apart. 

And honestly, I’ve missed that feeling. 

So originally when I was dabbling with my FL, nothing ever really felt right—well until I answered a question the way I would with people in my life. 

As soon as it came out I knew that was her. 

That was my Female Lead. That natural dialogue, reactions, everything felt natural and real. 

She wasn’t perfect. 

She wasn’t polished. 

Just familiar. 

The way she uses her sarcasm as a weapon and a shield.

Her ability to keep people at a distance but still want that emotional connection. 

And thinking about it, I think somewhere along the way, I stop being able to understand myself. 

The more disconnected I became from myself, the further I seemed to get. I became so in my head that  I could no longer understand her reactions. 

The way her dialogue started feeling robotic and certain moments that were supposed to be raw and vulnerable became simulated and stale. 

The character never changed, not to that extent it felt. 

But somewhere along the way, I stopped listening to who she was–despite her very clearly telling me to listen. 

Somewhere along the way, I stopped listening to her — and I didn’t notice until the silence got loud.

Lately, I’ve tried to actively hear her again. 

Not in every scene.

Absolutely not perfectly. 

Just with smaller moments that feel more instinctive rather than forced. 

If I’m thinking about a scene and my mind starts drifting away, I take that as my cue to pause and ask myself 

Have I been listening with my heart? 

And as corny as it sounds, it;s actually brought so much clarity. 

Simply asking if a line of dialogue actually sounds like something she’d say, or even a reaction that feels earned instead of meticulously constructed with prebuilt supplies. 

Sometimes even going full stop when she has moments feeling like a character i’m controlling rather than an individual. 

I’m not sure if reconnecting with her was an accident or if I’ve grown in this process. 

All I know is, the more capable I become in understanding myself, the easier to understand she becomes. 

Still, I’m a long ways away from having all the answers–especially in this story. 

I’m sure there will be future scenes I’ll write and rewrite more times than I can think of, more conversations that still just barely miss the mark.

But I’ll take that over the distance between myself and my characters, and honestly? 

That’s a sweet place to be. 

More Soon, 

Quill.