The Making of a Character

It starts with an idea. One idea. A small idea.
A sentence.
A picture.
A face.
A hairstyle.
A hair color. 
A feeling.
A mood.
A dream.
A song.
A memory.
A place.
An object.
A blank document.
A blank sheet of paper.
It's the seed out of which a universe springs; countless fates intertwined, spread across miles of land and centuries of time. Histories grow, nations branch out, peoples spread, languages blossom. Thousands, millions, billions - infinite ideas sprout from one.
And all of it happens under my nose, and I'm hardly aware of it. Somewhere in my subconscious, all of this is taking place, and I only notice a few outward signs.
Someone opens a window. Suddenly the picture is breathing, living, right before my eyes. It's a person. She speaks to me. She must have spoken to me, or I wouldn't know how I know all that I know about her. She's shy, quiet, and insecure. She always steps down, lets the other person go first, speak first, take the first prize. She has a loving heart. She has flaws. But she hasn't told them to me yet.
It only took an instant. Just like that, the information's there. It's in my head, and suddenly I don't just know about her. I know her. If I keep listening she'll tell me more, and I won't know I'm being told until just after she's finished speaking.
So now she's in my head. She talks a lot, but somehow I only hear her words on rare occasions.
She's pushing on me from the inside. She wants to get out, and she's not waiting to explain why. There's an empty notebook, the perfect landing pad. Before I know what she's doing, she's jumped onto the paper and made it her home. It's become a doorway to her world, a doorway through which anyone can step. And every page that she allows me to write is another door, each one leading to a different place.
Finally, I lay down my pencil with a sigh. Suddenly, she's not just in my head. She's on paper. She doesn't just exist for me. She exists for others.