Getting older is a bitch.
Not just a small nagging one either, but a big raging hormone fest of a bitch. I'm speaking of the aging physcial body of course. In my mind, I'm in my early to mid-twenties. Not to say that I don't act my age, but I like to think young. I still love to learn new things and experience things I haven't before.
I believe as writers we are behooved to cast off our adult roles on occasion and become the wide-eyed kids of our youth. By questioning the world and how it works, and seeking out unfamiliar concepts we continue to grow and change as writers. I know during these excursion into learning I've come across ideas that coalece before my eyes into almost complete story plots. Also as we grow in knowledge our writing becomes richer and deeper, the characters more complex. However, adding in a dash of brash youth is still attractive in a hero or heroine.
Don't you find a hero irresistable when he turns a joking smile to the heroine and you know there is just enough mischeivious Pan in him to rattle her cage? This scene is usually followed by the writer telling the reader about the telling glint in his eyes.
What about the heroine that doesn't act her age - much? I see this frequently in Regency novels for some reason. Heroines who are funny and irreverant and have that pannish side of their character. Generally they leave the hero confused and at a loss, and totally in love. They are like a breath of fresh air in the heroes stuffy life. Something they (the hero) are missing from themselves. Something they lost to adulthood. An ability to laugh and joke, have fun and to dream.
Personally, I love not acting my age. I like to laugh loudly...roar with it if I can. I like to be goofy and silly and sing at the top of my lungs for no other reason than I feel like it.
Yep, getting older is a bitch. But why be a bitch?