Hidden Identity

     When I started writing Missing Lily, my only objective was to tell Lylin’s story. I started my brainstorming by sticking her in a bunch of random (and usually uncomfortable) situations to see how she would react. I ended up coming up with several different ideas that involved some sort of a hidden identity theme. I think the reason I enjoy that idea so much is that the first meeting between hero and heroine starts with a blank slate. It sets aside any preconceived notions they might have and allows them to meet each other without that filter.

     In that sense, I think it can allow for a more genuine first impression. For Lylin specifically, she’s able to experience what it’s like to be treated as a person, instead of as royalty. We all want to be appreciated for who we are, not what we are, and I think we can all agree that that might be difficult for someone in the public eye, whether it’s hundreds of years ago or today.

     So, it’s a good thing on the one hand—clean slate, no preconceived notions—but on the other hand, when a character not only withholds their identity, but denies it and creates a different identity, that builds in a bigger complication. It then becomes not a case of mistaken identity, but of intentional misleading, of deception. When that deception is discovered—as, of course, it will be—then what? There are so many outcomes, so many reactions a character could have. There will almost always be anger from the person who was deceived. But how much anger? And for how long? Will the person doing the deceiving be apologetic, groveling, and begging for forgiveness? Or will they refuse to acknowledge any wrongdoing, maybe even blame someone else?

     I love working with the inherent tension in a hidden identity situation. There is endless potential for strong emotion, character growth and plot development.