Last night I was in the shower and my husband, who knows I’m working on making my protagonist more three dimensional, asked me what the hardest, most life altering moments in my life have been. This might not be average getting-ready-for-bed discussion in your household, but I didn’t think twice about it. We quiz each other like this all the time, just for fun (and material).
Daniel is, in his own chosen medium of film, a brilliant story teller. If I had to guess, I’d say I’ve learned about 70% of what I know about story telling from working (and playing) with him. Another 20% was genetic, and the final 10% I’m getting in graduate school.
So I thought about it for a second, while I lathered and rinsed, and then I told him the top five moments in my life that hurt the most as they changed me, as a bulleted list. Then he said “you should give one of those moments to Lu,” leaned into the shower for a kiss, and went to bed.
Standing in the warm cocoon of my shower, I dismissed him as crazy. I am not Lu. Our lives are very different. It seemed there was no way to lift one of my life-changing moments and place it in the reality of this story, but then something clicked. One of the events that I had listed stood out, practically waving its arms at me.
It was a time in my life when I took care of someone else in a way that was very hard for me. I remember feeling responsible for their pain, and helpless to do anything to cure it.
If you’re reading this and wondering if maybe you were the one I had to take care of, then you see the brilliance of Daniel’s idea. This is something we can all imagine. I can give Talula that feeling of responsibility, and the growth that comes with it. It’s the feeling that is universal, not the actual event.
I hopped out of the shower and ran for my journal. Did I mention what an amazing husband I have?
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