So won’t you please …. be my little baby

holding figure

Just before the start of NaNoWriMo on November 1st, I was pondering various ideas and little bits and pieces, a bit like the pieces of a puzzle or of a collage, which together create a whole picture.  Snippets of songs, pictures, story ideas, dreams, poetry and memories – all these things were telling me or showing me something, an indefinable thing whose presence I could sense but not see.  Well, after last year’s NaNo attempt I was a bit reluctant to take up the challenge for this year but in the end I decided to take a bit of a risk and set aside my WIP for a few weeks to concentrate on the November challenge, and I’ve been quite revoltingly smug that I had a good experience this year, and felt and still feel I have begun to tap into the buzz my brain had created from all those fragments.

And so I have returned to my poor neglected WIP, that should have been released on an unsuspecting public by the end of October but is still not ready, and now I am mentally pencilling in end of January for a possible release date.

Which leads me on to the next question – what next?  Again the brain is working on ideas and motifs and snippets, and I am wondering about the possibilities …

I love music.  I don’t play any instrument.  I’m not now and never have been in a band.  But music has been tremendously important to me in my life, and I like a lot of different kinds of music.

And now this is what I’m mulling over:

Ronettes: Be My Baby  (Be My Baby – would make a great working title and I have searched on amazon for a mystery/thriller book of that name but found nothing as yet.  Beloved Object also a good title but maybe a bit too close to the Jennifer Aniston film Object Of My Affection – based on the bestseller by Stephen Macaulay)

These lyrics seem a bit menacing when you think about them; Psychological dependency – what would she/he do to gain the approval and adoration of the one she/he loves?  How far would they go?  And in the end, what happens when they suddenly are confronted with the fact that the beloved object does not return their feelings?  And they will see all the (perceived) sacrifices they have made, all the efforts they have made to try to please the beloved object and achieve their love – and for what????  How could you do that to me?

A bit like the Police song Every Breath You Take, which was used as the title for the excellent novel by Cath Staincliff, this one also has overtones of obsession that make it uncomfortable as a reality, though people always see it as romantic.

“The night we met I knew I needed you so

And if I had the chance I’d never let you go

So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me

We’ll make ’em turn their heads every place we go”

I’m not sure this is a relationship that you could easily extricate yourself from.  Thinking of a story set back in the days of slicked back hair and that whole new scene for teenagers – or older – of freedom, obsession, new styles and opinions.  I’m thinking about big hair, cardigans with the top button done up, big flaring skirts and evenings at the dance hall.   But there will only be one way out of this relationship.

“Be my – be my baby – my my only baby …”