So I’ve been trying to figure out how to pace a story (and what to leave out and what to put in) as my brain jumps from one image to another and gets caught on inconsequential details like “why didn’t the man eat my creature.” Some of my questions strike me as rather important. Such as: how should my creature communicate? And to whom?

This leaves me with the overwhelming problem of trying to communicate my love of a creature who doesn’t exist. It’s a bit like being a parent but worse, because I find it hard to communicate his strong points.

My Creature’s liabilities:

1. He can’t talk.
2. He likes to eat things on sight.
3. He tends to avoid others of his own kind ( see point two)

You understand my problem? He’s unlikely to eat you, my dear reader, safely protected by your monitor. He lives in the water, and you on land. Plus, he has a fondness for king crabs and mollusks.

He’s not a creature from the black lagoon, even though others of his kind have been slurred with similar descriptions. And while I don’t understand him–they–the scientists don’t either. He’s alien. He thinks with his legs, and tastes with his skin.

My character is like a misplaced crush

My character is like having a misplaced crush. I can’t explain why I like him. And it’s irritating, because I want you to like him too.

I can point to the cool things that he does, but his liabilities seem so overwhelming that it’s hard to conceive of him as having friends. Loner really isn’t a cool word, although it probably best sums up his lifestyle. Perhaps we’ll go for independent, hmm?

For now we’ll stick with “because I say so” when I tell you that he’s brilliant, and clever and smart and . . . he’s a bit of a mystery, my creature, with only highlights of an adventurous life.