The Characters Who Raised My Imagination

There’s a particular kind of quiet magic that lives in late-night reruns.

The soft hum of the TV, the glow flickering across a dark living room, and the crunch of cereal that was definitely more sugar than grain — these were the rituals of my childhood. That liminal time between homework and bedtime when the world softened at the edges and anything felt possible. When I sat cross-legged on the couch, remote in hand, letting fictional strangers teach me how to be human.

These characters made me the writer (and chaos creature) I am.

I didn’t know it then. I was just a kid inhaling story like oxygen — unconsciously, constantly, and with the kind of commitment I have yet to replicate at a gym. But now, looking back, I can trace entire personality traits to fictional mentors who never once signed a permission slip saying they were responsible for me.

They taught me adventure, loyalty, curiosity, and the absolute truth that a clever woman with a good book could face anything — even a reanimated mummy.

So this is my love letter. My toast. My slightly chaotic acknowledgement that while my parents did their best, Scooby-Doo, four ninja turtles, and one brilliant librarian named Evelyn O’Connell were very much involved in my upbringing.

Let me introduce you to the fictional guardians of my creative soul.

Where My Love for Clues, Creepiness, and Snacks Began

If you grew up with Scooby-Doo, you know the sound.

That unmistakable “Ruh-roh.” The creak of a too-dark hallway. Fog rolling across a graveyard that absolutely shouldn’t have been accessible to a van full of teenagers. And of course, the victory rip of pulling off a mask to reveal that the monster was actually just an irritated small-business owner in disguise.

Scooby-Doo was my gateway to mystery — but the cozy kind. Playful, atmospheric, eerie enough to thrill but never bleak. Danger existed, sure, but it was the kind of danger you could face with cleverness, teamwork, and an alarming number of snacks.

What Scooby-Doo nurtured in me:

• A deep love of recurring tropes. (There will be a chase scene. The trap will misfire. The villain will be someone you met.)

• Twists that surprise without betraying the story. The mystery always played fair.

• The belief that mystery and comfort can share a room. You can have shadows and softness.

And yes — I once tried to solve a “mystery” in my own house. Spoiler: I was the villain. I framed my sister for drawing on the walls using evidence that included… my own labeled markers.

We both got grounded, but I learned valuable things: good mysteries require believable villains. And also, maybe don’t leave your name on the murder weapon.

The Brothers Who Taught Me Loyalty, Pizza, and Creative Mayhem

Neon lights. Sewer lairs that somehow felt cozy. Pizza topped with things that were definitely a cry for help. The sound of skateboard wheels and katana blades making the kind of whoosh that makes your spine tingle.

The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were pure, glorious chaos — and I adored them.

What TMNT nurtured in me:

• Found family truths. These brothers were bonded by choice and commitment, not blood. They fought for each other, teased each other, and shared the last slice even when it hurt.

• Chaos-before-perfection philosophy. They leapt off rooftops and figured it out midair — literally. Messy courage over tidy planning.

• Permission to write imperfect heroes. Each Turtle had flaws, quirks, soft spots, and rough edges. Real, loveable, unforgettable.

I wanted a lair. I wanted a band of brothers. I wanted to believe that even if the world called you weird or too much, you could still be a hero.

The Turtles gave me that. They gave me the blueprint for every ensemble cast I write — loyalty-first, banter-heavy, chaos-infused, and stitched together by fierce, stubborn love.

The Librarian Who Said, “Actually, I Can Fight a Mummy.”

Desert heat. Library dust. The melodic chaos of the O’Connells bickering as the undead charged at them.

Evelyn O’Connell from The Mummy was — and remains — the blueprint.

What Evelyn nurtured in me:

• Smart women can be everything. Awkward and brilliant. Soft and ferocious. Bookish and brave. She never apologized for her multitudes.

• Heroism doesn’t require perfection. Evelyn tripped, fumbled, blushed — and saved the world anyway.

• Curiosity is its own kind of courage. She didn’t wait for permission to chase adventure; she claimed it.

I checked out every Egyptology book my library had — all six of them — and marched confidently toward a future where someone, somewhere, would hire an 11-year-old to excavate a tomb.

Evelyn gave me the courage to write heroines who are clever, stubborn, chaotic, and absolutely unwilling to let the world tell them who they’re allowed to be.

And honestly? I’m still writing her. I always will be.

The Frankenstein’s Monster of Influence (In the Best Way)

Growing up on these stories means I became a composite sketch of every character who ever made my heart thump.

Now, as I sit at my desk with my coffee going cold and a half-finished manuscript glowing accusingly at me, I can see their fingerprints everywhere — and I love it.

Let me show you the blueprint.

From Scooby-Doo: Cozy Atmosphere + Playful Suspense

Fog, clues, creaky doors, warmth beneath the shadows — my mysteries carry the same energy. Danger with a soft landing.

From TMNT: Found Family Chaos Gremlin Energy

Every messy, loud, loyal cast I write owes its existence to four sewer-dwelling ninjas who taught me that heart beats polish every time.

From Evelyn O’Connell: Clever, Courageous Heroines

My heroines are smart, curious, chaotic, and brave — because Evelyn showed me that women contain their own adventures.

Recognizing the Fingerprints

It’s a beautiful thing to realize the stories you loved didn’t just entertain you — they shaped you.

They taught me what home feels like (fog, candles, clues). What loyalty looks like (loud, stubborn, unshakable). What courage is (showing up imperfect and trying anyway).

And now I get to pass that torch. To create characters who might someday shape someone else’s imagination. Who might whisper, “Hey, you’re allowed to be curious and chaotic and brave.”

It feels like a legacy. A circle. A spark being handed down.

I’m so grateful to be part of it.

To the Characters Who Made Me… Me

To Scooby and Shaggy, who taught me that bravery comes in different flavors — sometimes sprinting away counts.

To Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo, who showed me that family is chosen, loyalty is loud, and sharing the last slice is the truest act of heroism.

To Evelyn O’Connell, who proved beyond doubt that a woman with a book, a brain, and stubborn determination can take on anything — including the undead.

These characters didn’t just entertain me. They raised me.

Their lessons echo in everything I write. Their fingerprints live in every world I build.

I am a Frankenstein’s monster of influence — stitched together from late-night reruns, library dust, desert heat, and sewer lairs that somehow felt like home. And I wouldn’t trade a single stitch.

And maybe — just maybe — the stories I write now will someday raise someone else.

So tell me: who raised your imagination?

What characters shaped you? What fictional guardians live rent-free in your head, whispering lessons and leaving fingerprints all over your creative soul?

I'd love to hear about them. Drop a comment, send a message, share your story. Because if there's one thing I've learned from Scooby-Doo, the Turtles, and Evelyn O'Connell, it's this:

We're better when we share the adventure.

And honestly? I'm so glad you're here for mine.

Until next time,

Indigo