This Is Not Good

Point the First: I am currently writing a novel.  It's called Only a Novel.  I'm loving it.  

Point the Second: I have a deadline for the completion of this novel.  A deadline--one of those nasty, dastardly things that creeps up slowly on you, ready to pounce like a baby on a forbidden ring of keys.  The deadline isn't the issue here, though.  The issue is actually three issues--three people, to be exact.  

Point the Third: The Three Issues.  The three people who marched simultaneously into my mind, demanding that their story be told... three people who won't go away.  I know so little of their story thus far, and my first response is to tell them all to leave me alone.  After all, I'm busy!  I have a deadline! I haven't time for plot bunnies. 

But they aren't listening.  So here they sit, looking at me reproachfully.  "Finish your novel if you must," they seem to be saying.  "Keep writing... don't miss your deadline... but if you forget about us in the process, We Will Not Be Pleased."

I may as well introduce you to them, so here they are.

Annabeth Creighton

This is Annabeth, the protagonist, who looks like Judy Garland, and really that's all I know about her-- her name, and how she looks.  Well, that's not quite true.  I also know that she's fed up with the war that's going on all over Europe--including the tiny country she's living in (Republic of Something-or-other that I haven't named yet, and Annabeth wants little more than to go back to her hometown in the USA.  Don't let the picture fool you, though-- Annabeth might not be particularly happy with where she is, but she's not the weepy type.  She wouldn't just sit around and mope with her chin on her hand... nope, that's not Annabeth.  (But the picture looks like her.  So... hush.)  Annabeth isn't exactly what you'd call a cock-eyed optimist, but neither is she a Pouting Polly.  Also, she's bossy.  Did I mention that?  Especially where her headstrong little brother is concerned...

Thatcher Creighton

Meet Thatcher, Annabeth's younger brother, who was actually the first person to march into my head... but he dragged Annabeth in with him, and they seem to be inseparable.  Thatcher's fed up with the war, too, but in a different way than Annabeth.  Annabeth desperately wants to leave it all behind and go back home, but Thatcher wants to march in and do something.  The problem?  Republic of Whatchamacallit's army won't take him because of his asthma.  So he's stuck at home writing propaganda articles for his local newspaper and itching to be doing something more.  The trouble is... he doesn't know what.  (Well, I know what, but he doesn't--yet--and so you won't either.  For the time being, at least.)

Peter McTavish

And this is Peter McTavish, an American serviceman stationed in Annabeth and Thatcher's hometown... and, um, he's awesome. 'Nuff said.  Ahem.

I've done nothing more than detail the very barest of bare bones about these folks... but their story just won't go away.  Adventure, photography, espionage, World War II, journalism, disguises, daring rescues, illness, loyalty, confusion, romance, arguments, sacrifice, practical jokes, Jane Austen, wilderness survival, danger, friendship, strawberries... all that and more is rattling around inside my head, spinning itself into a story bigger than anything I've ever imagined before.  You've heard of plot bunnies?  Well, I'm calling this the Plot Heffalump.   Yep.  Project Plot Heffalump... but it's on hold.  ON HOLD, Annabeth and Thatcher and Peter. You heard me.