As I write my book I find myself falling in love with each character for different reasons.
I love Braxley’s inquisitive nature and mischievous antics that are slowly giving way to a heart that wants to do good things for others.
I love Miss Templeton’s feminism mixed with femininity. She is like an amazing puzzle.
I love the triplets for how they each are their own personality.
I love Miss Dorton for her cheeky busybody nature and slightly quirky sense of humor.
I love Hamilton for his deep heart and quiet steadiness.
And, I love Johnathan Littlefoot. Love him. Here’s the reason why:
He walked forward and handed the dusty dirt-covered carrots to Hamilton while he examined Hamilton’s hat critically. He lifted it from Hamilton’s head glanced at the brim and replaced it back once he had done so. He stepped back and retrieved his carrots.
“You have not worn it since you got it, you keep it on a metal nail, but not a rusty one, and it hangs on the entrance to your apartment catching sun from the window by your armchair. Most likely you have a photograph above it of your father wearing it, in remembrance, but near the front door instead of elsewhere, because you don’t like to think about him. Your decision to wear the hat was an emotional one and you took it from the wall and rushed from the apartment before you could change your mind.”
Hamilton, well use to this attention to detail nodded. “The state of the hat tells you I don’t wear it, and the fading tells you what side of the room it sits on, but, how did you know the rest? The photograph and the emotional part.” Hamilton cleared his throat, embarrassed. He looked at the ground. He did not like talking about his father, but he was curious as to how Jonathan had known where he kept the hat, and most especially, how he’d known about the photograph. Johnathan had not once been to his apartment.
Johnathan smiled. The white of his teeth clearly in evidence. “I know because your hat told me.”
“It’s dusty, but the dye has held up well, no broken threads, but there is some fading on the left side. There is a tear in the brim and the brim leather is not worn. This tells me that the hat has not been worn, but gets some sunlight on the one side, but only the one side, which means it does not move. The hole in the brim is from the nail sitting against it. Since the tear has threads that are not as faded as those around it, I can tell it tore recently, probably when you took it from the wall as you decided to wear it and rushed in the procedure, because you did not want to see the person in the photograph, which explains how it became torn, as you usually take more care in taking things down, but were not looking when you removed it this time, catching it upon the edge of the nail head as you did so.”
He regarded Hamilton quietly and kindly. “I guessed about the photograph because I know you, and I know your heart. You may be deeply angry or deeply sorrowful regarding your father, but you still love him, you cannot help but love him, though your heart still grieves the lack of understanding. You, Hamilton, are a warrior that has not tended to his wounds.”
I think, all writers fall in love with their characters. Even my villains are delightfully dorky.
Jonathan is a combination of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson if they were one person. I can’t help it, I was reading the Ultimate Sherlock collection when I wrote this character. 🙂