Since the night my best friend and I first bonded over terrible dance music and late-night Easy Mac, we’ve been able to talk about absolutely anything. From the pettiest bits of gossip to the most monumental of life concerns, there has never been a moment of hesitant communication between us. So it makes perfect sense that my best friend is thus far the only person to hear a single meaningful word about my new WIP.
To everyone else who asks about my current project, I remain ambiguous and noncommittal — probably insufferably so. “It’s a…dystopian…I think?” I reply with a vague wave of my hand. I’m so cautious about bursting my own mental bubble that I’ve made it a point to stringently avoid discussing even the most innocuous of details, like my MC’s name.
But not only is my best friend, well, my best friend, she’s a writer and a bibliophile and just as enamored with YA as I am. It would have been downright silly not to answer her when she asked about my WIP. (Which, incidentally, is in serious need of an actual title.)
And whaddya know — getting out of my own neurotic head did me a lot of good. My best friend, her literary wondrousness on full display, asked me a series of probing-yet-not-pushy questions that proved to be excellently inspiring. Some helped me clarify ideas in my own head as I articulated them to her; some prompted entirely new thoughts that I’m hoping will really add some depth to my story. I even told her about my favorite — gasp — Big Plot Twist. And it was relieving. It felt like I was working things out, not ruining them by voicing them prematurely.
I still haven’t told anyone my MC’s name, though. I guess some mental bubbles aren’t ready to be popped.