Nine days into this year's NaNoWriMo project, I'm baffled by something about my writing.
I consider myself to be a funny person. I mean, I'm not a comedienne or sketch comic, but I've got some sense of wit and timing. I say things that make people laugh, fairly regularly.
But when I write -- and this probably includes my writing on this blog -- it is all Serious Seriousity. Contemplative, solemn, earnest, transparent, sober. My shit gets real. I mean, much of it is beautiful, haunting, and honest. But my characters don't really traipse through the landscape lightly, cracking jokes or being funny.
This surprises me to no end. I'm going go on faith and assume that what comes out is what is supposed to come out.
Are you ever surprised by what you create, based on the way you are in the rest of your life? Anyone out there living a peaceful, harmonious life who composes death metal? Or any accountants who also sculpt grotesque figures?