The Pact

/ Lisa / 3 Comments

Recently a man I’d just met asked me about outlining. He’d heard how one author he likes outlines using post-it notes. I told him how some writers outline extensively, some outline roughly, and some are more organic, not outlining at all but allowing the characters and plot to unfold, so that the writer is also the first reader. He was fascinated by the idea that characters take over and have a life of their own. So the conversation then moved on to how that’s true for all writers, whether they outline or not. Outlines don’t always guarantee the story will move in the plotted direction.

Which got me thinking, of course.

I don’t outline, and have posted about that before. This conversation though, made me realize that by not outlining, I place a great deal of trust in the characters. I’m not saying that I don’t have a rough idea in my mind about who they are, and I always know what the last line of a story is before I start, so that the plot is actually discovering the path to the ending. But I trust the character to know what they want, to tell me if I’m going the wrong way, to tell me their story, and to be able to carry the plot.

People who outline also trust their characters, but it seems to me that the trust is tempered with a strong foundation. Rather like parenting, when you send your child out into the world, trusting them to do the right thing, and knowing that you have given them a strong compass. Outlines, to me, must be like that compass. Whereas, with me not outlining, I just nudge the characters off the edge and go along for the ride as they fall, or soar. (I don’t parent like that, by the way.)

Then there’s the trust between a reader and the characters. As a reader, I trust the character to be believable, to make me care about them, to make me cheer them on, and to make me live vicariously through them. I want to go along on the adventure with them, not simply be an observer, as sometimes happens in books when characters are not fully developed. To me, that problem is usually a result of the author telling me too much, and not showing me the character. So, I put a lot of faith in both the writer and the characters, when I open a new book. And there’s nothing worse than having that trust betrayed and discovering the anticipated new book is boring and flat.

Finally, there’s the pact between the reader and the author. I trust, when I pick up that new book by a favorite author, that I’m going to spend some time with old friends. That I am going to meet some new ones I’ll care about, that I’m going to be placed in a world as real as the one I live in, and I’m going to go for a great ride. I hate when that pact is broken, especially when it’s an author that I have followed for a long time. Yes, it’s unrealistic to expect someone to put out a book at 100% every time, but then I never said my trust was realistic. Especially when it comes to my favorite authors.

This makes me realize how much there is between writer, reader, and characters. I knew it was a strong bond before, of course, but I just never thought too much about it from the trust angle.

So do you feel that sense of trust in the author or characters when you pick up a book? Why do you trust, or not trust? I’d love to know as it will help me as a writer.

Soaring with feet on the ground

Soaring with feet on the ground

Stubborn Characters

/ Lisa / Leave a comment

I’ve said this before, but I have fun with Yahoo Answers. I go to the books and authors section and read posts about writing. I answer quite a few, and in answering am forced to pause and think and learn. I see many topics that come up repeatedly. Some of the very, very common questions include ‘what should I name my character’, ‘what do you think of my story’, ‘I want to be a writer but need an idea’, ‘how do I get published’, ‘can I write a story when I’m only twelve’ and so on, each one so earnestly asked and so deserving of time.

The most recent one I saw asked for tips on how to develop a stubborn character. The person wanted to know what to do with an annoying character that refused to have the personality the questioner wanted.

Sounds like my kind of character. Or at least some of my friends. Stubborn, unique, individual, doing what they want. I like the character already.

Seriously though, I responded because I think all writers have had that happen. Matter of fact, those can be the best characters because they don’t do what we want.

There can be so many reasons for this. One thing I usually ask first, is if I am trying to force a particular character into the wrong role. Sometimes that character belongs in a different part of the story.

It reminds me of the time my friend (and author) Susan Schreyer, had problems with this one very meek character who just wasn’t doing what Susan wanted. Turned out this very meek character actually wanted to be the villain. When Susan realized that, the whole story took on a different shape and pieces fell into place.

Sometimes the character won’t do what you want because you let personal feelings get in the way. I actually had a character who reminded me of someone I did not care for. I so wanted that character to be the villain. Vicarious revenge. I struggled with the plot line until I realized that my personal emotions had to get out of the way of the character, and then the story line developed easier. Kind of the opposite problem that Susan had.

Sometimes it’s as simple as the writer not having fully developed the character, so that the character isn’t understood.

And sometimes the plot develops in a way that pulls out action from the character that the writer didn’t plan for.

There are so many reasons for something like this to happen. But it brings home to me just how wonderful it is when a character is so alive that they become a life outside of our expectations. If the character is alive like that, then I’m willing to bet the story will be, too.

 

Not a character in a story, but still a character.

Not a character in a story, but still a character.

 

1975

/ Lisa / 6 Comments

In 1975 I was fifteen. Watergate was current news. The Weather Underground was also making news. Charlie Chaplin was knighted. It was the time of the Convoy of Tears, for those familiar with Vietnam. In music, Glen Campbell was singing Rhinestone Cowboy and I sang When Will I Be Loved along with Linda Ronstadt. My husband, out there in the world unbeknownst to me, was thirteen, which is just really weird to think about. I think I had a crush on a senior at the time. Definitely was not interested in thirteen year old boys.

And I bought a new release book for seventy-five cents. Crocodile on the Sandbank.

That book started a love affair with mysteries, and is probably why I write mysteries. For thirty-eight years I have been reading books by Elizabeth Peters. And books written under her pseudonym, Barbara Michaels. And books under her real name, Barbara Mertz.

Thirty-eight years. Think about that a moment.

Can you imagine the amount of paper she, as a writer, accumulated? You writers will know exactly what I’m referring to. We collect scraps. Scribbled dialog overheard at the laundromat, bits of news that might make a good story some day, notes on writing craft, deleted scenes from drafts that might work in a different tale, and so on. And we always swear some day we’re going to organize all those pieces of paper.

What does that have to do with Elizabeth Peters? Well, she died recently, and it feels like losing a close friend. I have lived thirty-eight years within her imagination. Her words have sent me to places I have never physically been. She has inspired me and made me laugh. And I can’t imagine a future without the anticipation of a new Amelia Peabody or Vickie Bliss.  And that made me wonder how her family  was doing, and that got me thinking they are probably going through years and years of scraps of paper.

To her family, those scraps will be incomprehensible. I can hear them saying to each other ‘why did she keep that?’. I bet those scraps will make them shake their heads, cry, laugh, and grieve together. But only the writer who saved the snippet will understand the reason.

Someday my son will probably be found kneeling by boxes trying to figure out why in the world his mother kept a list of true things police officers have said to people they pull over (I might have a character in that situation some day), or a very tattered book called 2000 Baby Names (character names). Or maybe the book on how people lived in the 1800s (I think I have a western story in me some where).

I am willing to bet Elizabeth Peter’s family decides to hold on to some of those scraps.

Because even if the reason is unknown, they will still understand that words were of value to the writer.

Rest in Peace, Elizabeth, surrounded by stories.