Usually, I get my Understanding™ moments in the shower, or while downing the second mug of coffee – the application of hot water is usually required. But I woke up this morning with a single, surprisingly urgent thought: “oh. So THAT’S what the whisky witches are!”
Gee, thanks brain. It only took me, what, ten years to figure out?
For those wondering WTF, the whisky witches (not called that, specifically) appeared in the Vineart War trilogy, when we needed a source of magic to compare and contrast against our hero/villain who used a magic centered on wine.
(yes, I wrote an agricultural-based fantasy where the heroes were and remained farmers. I am still bitter I didn’t get a trope mention for that, yes).
Anyway, the witches appear in, I think, two scenes out of the entire nearly 400,000 word trilogy, and were mostly though not entirely meant as an inside joke and apology to my whisky-drinking cohort, for making them work their way through that many words about viticulture.
But somehow, as happens, these characters – nameless, mostly faceless, with only a single role to perform in the story – caught the attention of readers. Who asked me “but what about them? who are they? what do they do when they’re at home? and what about whisky magic!?”
And I kinda knew. But not entirely. And then there were other books to write, and I put the kinda-knowing aside, just shrugging when people brought it up, one of those “we may never know” moments that readers probably hate.
But it seems to have stuck in the raging disaster I call a mental storage room, and this morning it must have gotten knocked off the shelf, because it woke me up with a clatter, saying, “okay, so get this, I know why they were there and why they were cranky AF. Their names are -”
Well. If I tell you that here now, I won’t have any need to write the story, will I?
I’m gonna need more coffee. A LOT more coffee.
And possibly some whisky, too.