Every writer goes through the stage of writing what he/she knows nothing about. When I was in middle school, I had a love story in the works. So did my friends. We were all writing about undying love, and none of us had a clue what love was. I learned quickly not to show my story to my friends because the male love interest would go through some changes. After reading our stories to each other, our handsome princes seemed to merge into one look we all agreed upon. Sometimes the battle lines would be drawn between the writers who thought gray eyes were better and the writers who maintained that the green-eyed princes had far more sophisticated gazes. Then we’d all go home and come back with blue-eyed and brown-eyed princes. We were writers…penning awkward, lousy stories and changing eye colors mid-paragraph.
We ventured into the unknown. Unknown to us, at least. Settings like medieval castles and French palaces abounded. Sometimes we languished with our characters in dungeons…which featured a friendly servant-rescuer who cleaned out the damp and musty chambers. Sometimes we climbed to the top of frigid mountain peaks to find talking furry friends who would normally have inhabited pine trees. We were explorers on a quest for an adventure without a concern for what was plausible.
I want to go back to that bliss of writer ignorance at times. Facts didn’t throttle my inspiration then, and the protagonist and antagonist weren’t set in stone. One minute my witch would be a vicious, calculating sort with a fancy for cutting my heroine’s pretty throat. The next minute, she’d come to the hero’s rescue and turn into the sweetest little grandmotherly type with a habit of serving up cookies and cakes whenever someone felt sad.
It was all irrational and lovely.
Actually, there are a few too many fairytale movies out lately that sound exactly like that. I hate them. Never mind that whole nostalgic moment. I’m fine now.