Odd conversations . . .

Sorry I've been quiet. Between the tail end of this cold and the stress of touching down at work without really being there long enough to accomplish much, I've been pretty thrashed most evenings.

I've said before that aspects of being an author are disturbing. You're all your own heroes . . . but that means you also have to be all your villains. You're male and female, mad and sane, bisexual, victim and perpetrator . . . all these things come out of you. I occasionally complain to my friends that some character will tell me something I really didn't need to know. Often in loving detail.

Last night, as I was not quite asleep, two of my characters began having a conversation. The ex-priest who gave up his vocation before he could disgrace the priesthood and the sado-masochistic madman with a psychic hole in his head. The two have always hated each other. And last night, they sat down with each other and began having a thoughtful conversation with each other. In my head. Even three-quarters asleep, it was really odd. Even for me.