The Girls in the Basement

I first heard that expression at an RWA National Conference. I’m not sure who was credited with it, but it’s a brilliant analogy. Then NINC adopted an article for their monthly newsletter titled the Care and Feeding of the Girls in the Basement, which reminded me that just because I had left them down there didn’t mean they were forgotten. Only that they weren’t ready for action yet.

I remember a conversation I had with my Dad about the idea. He passed this past year after a very long battle with Parkinsons. And he also suffered from dementia. But before things got bad he asked me about my writing. (My family mostly just accepts that I do it, loves to brag about it, and hopes it pays off.) But he asked about the process like he really wanted to understand how it all worked. I tried to explain to him about all these “girls” in the basement and how I pick what stories I’m going to tell.
Later when we eventually had to put him in assisted living I would visit him and he would say things like… “Is that witch still in the basement at your house?” My mother would shake her head to let me know that it wasn’t a good day for him, but I knew exactly what he meant. “Yeah Dad, she’s still there. Waiting.”

I recently called up a “girl” from the basement. An idea that had simmered down there for almost two, maybe three years. I know the characters. I know the story sort of. It sat down there because of the time period. (Victorian – which only recently has come back into play) It also sat down there because I knew I didn’t have the chops to pull it off. Four character POV. Just writing that scares the crap out of me.

Naturally, now is the worst time. I’m in midst of another proposal – which I should be focusing on. But it’s like I don’t have a choice. This “girl” is banging loudly and wants out. So I opened the door, let it into my head and now there is all this pressure on me to execute. Part of me is tempted to slam it back down, lock the door and never let this idea see the light of day. But of course I can’t.

So here I go again down a path that in reality is mostly likely to lead to failure. It’s an odd odd thing being a writer. I’m grateful I have a place to come like DWT and share stories that I know other writers will get.

I sent a silent prayer to my Dad last night to let him know the crazy suffragette, her detective maid, the Irish seaman who is afraid of water and the brilliant bastard lord are about to have their time in the sun.

Good luck guys. I hope I do right by you.