The first words that came to my mind as I awoke at about 2 am:
I think it was the ‘hag’ part that kept me awake. When I think of the word ‘hag’, I think of an older woman, perhaps one who some might say is a bit off-mark, more than a bit quirky, occasionally prone to bouts of weirdness.
In other words, me.
However, I wasn’t feeling particularly hag fish-ish, or even hag-ish.
I was feeling more … angler fish-ish…
… unusual, adorned, regal … but potentially deadly, yet fragile.
That sums it nicely.
I was tired of fighting — as I wrote to a work colleague yesterday — unnecessary Goliath battles. It seems that lately, I’ve had to stand up for things that shouldn’t have to be stood up for. The fins get tired, you know, which makes the teeth come out.
Some folks aren’t ready for the teeth.
So, I slip back into my burrow, like a wolf fish, avoiding daylight and people and standing up. Instead, I write.
I have a character who’s been languishing on the shelf for some time, but I found the perfect place for her. She’s all sharp edges, fangs, claws. She’s deadly.
Hag-ish to the max, dude.
I hope I do her justice.
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