I’m sure I’m not the only author whose character has said, “Hey, you aren’t finished with me yet. You’ve got to do a book about . . .” and then the character proceeds to tell you a completely new story.

This happened to me a good number of years back when I was drafting the “Forward” scene of The Chronicles of Henry Roach-Dairier: The Re-creation of Roacheria. My title character, Henry Roach-Dairier, was called upon by his family to relate a bit of history. My muse had gone into overdrive. I was just his mouthpiece—or more to the point—the fingers typing out what he told me.

When I finished the scene, I said, “Doggone you, Henry! You just gave me a synopsis for another novel! Well, guess what. I’m NOT writing that one. This trilogy is plenty so the story you just told me is all there will be on that topic. Period. So be quiet. Besides, I’m busy with YOUR story right now.” 

Henry was much too busy in his own world, so he didn’t bother me any more about it. Years in our world, and my ant/roach world, went by. Grandson, Henry Roach-Dairier II, grew up. He was the one who was really interested in that bit of ant/roach history (or Antstory and Roachstory as they refer to it). Before I could stop him, Henry had finished that world’s version of education and set about finding out what happened way back in their world. He started to tell me about it as I fell asleep at night, or when I was daydreaming.

“Be quiet, Henry, I told your grandfather I wasn’t going to write that one. And I let him die peacefully of old age to prove it.”

But Grandson Henry would not be quiet. He would not leave me alone. Night after night and day after day, whenever my mind was quiet, he invaded my thoughts and gave me another scene. And another scene, and another. He introduced me to even more characters in that imaginary future world of my mind.

“Leave me alone, Henry. I TOLD you, I’m not going to write that book.”

Henry was persistent. He must have gotten some sisu from Emma in my book Living on Sisu: The 1913 Union Copper Strike Tragedy. I gave in, but not completely. “Oh, all right,” I told Henry, “I’ll work it all out in my head, but I won’t start typing it into my computer.”

Henry continued to bug me, pun intended. Like the roaches in my kitchen, he would be sitting on my counter late in the evening whenever I turned on the kitchen light to set up the coffee pot for the following morning. I smacked at him. I put out bait traps. I sprayed every corner and crevice. I set off foggers and left the house, but Henry refused to go away.

I gave in a little again and started a page in my notebook—list of characters and an outline. Putting anything into writing of any sort becomes a commitment to it. So, of course, I gave in completely and started a computer word doc so Henry could finish telling me the story.

Henry’s work, The Chronicles of Henry Roach-Dairier: The Inception of the Combined Colonies, is now off the press.

Is Henry quiet in my mind, though? Hardly. He’s just gotten started. “BE QUIET, HENRY!”

So, fellow writers, what do you do when your characters start bugging you?