The story I'm talking about is one I haven't published or shared anywhere called "A Less than Perfect Life." I wrote it about 6 years ago on my old computer that melted in the fire. It was about a 20 year old young girl named Jackie whose husband had been sent to prison for beating her to a pulp. I know, not a nice story, but here's why I'm bringing it up.
I had an accident a week ago. A girl ran a stop sign and I clipped her rear tire. When she stepped out of the car I thought I had seen a ghost or at the very least one I had created. I remembered describing her as a short thin stick of a girl who was beautiful but looked like life was kicking the crap out of her. That was the girl who stepped out of her car on the day of the accident.
The odd thing about it was she had some of the same things going on in her life as the character I had written all those years ago. For the most part I was stunned when I stepped out of my van. I'm not sure if it was from the accident or from seeing a character of mine standing there in front of me.
She spoke the way I had imagined and she even had the same haircut.
This makes me wonder, do the stories we tell already exist on some sub-conscious level? Are there really characters walking around like the ones we create? Do the monsters we write really exist on some sort of strange level?
I know writing is an expression of the human spirit. The one thing I took from this was the fact that all the emotions, good, bad and ugly, all come from the same place. They all make up who we are. In looking at that, I have to go a step further and ask, does this mean the evil I create can come out at any time? After all, they are as much a part of us as the good guys.
Just something to ponder on while you create your monster. I myself am ok with creating mine. We all have a dark side. I just let mine come out in the somewhat nonexistent beings I write about.