The Tipping Point

It's been a long time coming, and once that tipping point arrives, there is no slowing down the follow through. It will come and it will be swift.

I'd been thinking about it for months, did I want to, did I have what it took, could I choose almost blindly, praying for faith at the same time that I exercised it?

The tipping point came when the theoretical turned tangible.


"Norman took the job in Charleston."

I blinked. It was only yesterday that there had been the faintest other possibility, not one that would be great. This, however, was exactly what we'd all been waiting for. Whether or not it was the where we'd been waiting for, well that would remain to be seen.

"He...he got the job?"

Mama nodded. "He just called."

This called for celebration! Finally, a solid tenure track position. They wouldn't have to be moving every year, my brother was getting the beginning of his dream, and more and more I'm hearing how lovely a place South Carolina is.

At the same time that I wanted to jump for joy, my world took a strange nose dive. The kind that a fighter plane takes and builds up speed. It can either swing up out of it with more momentum than ever, or it can stall out, continue to fall, and crash.

The theoretical had just become tangible.

I talked with Mama for a few more minutes about it, plying for answers, though nobody had any real details yet, just the big idea that my brother and his family once again had a new destination for the upcoming school year. Then, bubbling with excitement at all the possibilities, I climbed the stairs and faithfully logged on to Facebook. I sent one private message to two recipients. One word. "YAAAYYYY!"

Then I stepped away, though not far, and wondered how everyone's lives were about to topsy around.

A chime.

I looked. I had a new message.

From my sister-in-law.

"Did you want to come with us?"

I could feel it then, the tipping point, the door of no return, waited in front of me. My plane started diving. I was running out of time to decide.

But I had already decided a few months ago. I just had to work through my process and accept that I wouldn't know all the answers and that it would be okay anyway.

I got my final council from my closest advisor, tearfully admitted that it was what I wanted and it was even hard to say so, and finally accepted.

And then there was no stopping me.

 

Do You Nano?

Okay, deep breath, I'm plunging in. Without enough time to talk myself out of it, I have decided I'm going to participate in NaNoWriMo 2012. It's time for some writerly abandon, forget the rules, which I tend to be a stickler for (well, if someone tells me to do something in this way, I'll do my best to match it. I might experiment if specifically given permission to do so. Otherwise....), and let my whimsies and fantasies take flight on paper. Or computer. ... Eh?

Yes, I know that was weird.

Oh well, forget the "rules", right? NaNoWriMo isn't supposed to be the prettiest thing I ever write. It's just supposed to get done.

I've written two novels before. Both in first draft form, one took about a year, the second made it somewhere in probably five months (...hey, I just realized, that's progress!). Now for the one month challenge. This is going to be awesome. And just like major exercise after not using those muscles much for a long time, I'm going to be oh so sore.

But I kinda like being sore. As long as I'm sure I'll recover. You know why? Because it means I'm getting stronger, and yes, I can meet the challenge.

Now is warmup time. Mentally and emotionally mostly, probably. Gotta get ready and head off the stereotypical writer's block and depression before they have a chance to hit.

Because I can do this.

I plan to be a winner.

Worth a Share

Here are some things I have found on the interwebs that tickled my funny bone, made me smile, or brought me to tears. Or any other number of worthwhile responses.

Blogs:

My good friend Jaimie Dawn Krycho describes her apartment complex in a manner that simultaneously makes me want to live there and makes me want to not. I imagine boring days are rare.

A beautiful insight from my sister-in-law. I'm glad to have her back here for now, but I know she loves her Arcata.

Another one from my friend and former classmate, Jaimie Dawn, who is apparently nearly ready to find an agent for her novel!

The Year of Less blog hit on a little gem I needed regarding gifts and stuff, and not being overrun by them. Encouraging without chastising. Beauty.

Art:

I think I'm adopting a mission to always be on the lookout for art. A couple months ago I found the painting La Mer by Vladimir Volegov, and I just love it. And basically all that I've found by Volegov.

Speaking of art, lightning-hand time lapse videos are fun, whether it's for something large and photographic or something smaller and cartoonish. Somehow I don't think it would be quite as cool to watch a time lapse of a writer. Though the facial expressions at high speed might entertain.

Stories:

This one takes a while to get through, but I think Legend of Zelda: The Return is the best fanfiction I've ever read, especially if you're a fan of the games.


What have you found that's worth a share? Let me know in a comment.

I don't choose my purpose. I'm given freedom.

Yesterday I held a newborn baby. A tiny person. She is beautiful and precious. Impossibly real. A new heart not yet ready to explore far, but filled with so much potential already that it makes one want to sing. I didn't see her for long, and I held her for less than that (she was hungry, after all, and I haven't got food in me). I'm terribly excited for her and her parents, and I have confidence that they will be just fine. I left as unobtrusively as I could manage to let this beautiful, little, and growing family have peace and time. And on the way home, I cried.

You see, despite my fears of babies (mostly because they're so small, I'm not and tend toward clumsiness, and I don't want to break them or hurt them in any way), there are times I desperately want a child (or more than one) of my own.

I want a small, young, new person to hold and comfort, cuddle and feed, encourage and teach. Someone to whom, down the road, I can say, "Sure, try that slightly dangerous or new and uncertain thing. It'll probably turn out all right." Someone who I can try to help have more courage than I do. And a whole long list of reasons and things I look forward to, should they be granted to me.

And preceding that, I would love to be married. Seriously. There's another list longer than my arm of things I want and hope for wrapped in that.

And these are good things to want, certainly. I'm not likely to stop any second. But I'm also not likely to get married "any day now". And because of that (and a thousand other things, including I've never been career-oriented) I've been down in my heart about my usefulness and my purpose. If I want to raise a person, how is fiction going to help? If I want to marry and partner myself with a man, what use is the obscurity of holing up and pouring my energy into false realms into which no one can truly travel? And if marriage and children are not for me, what is the point of wanting them so deeply? And what is the benefit of my desired and chosen profession anyway?

Those questions are hard to write now, because, for the moment, it's so easy to see how silly they are. But for a couple or so weeks I wrestled with the challenges they brought to mind. The "glut" of fiction and stories haunted me. The longing to do something great and to be a crucial piece in a grand plan that worked for the good of thousands of people made my heart despair that "I could never".

Because, after all, what can one lonely little writer do? Certainly nothing on such a grand and important scale.

But even as I doubted, I knew my doubts were...well, not exactly wrong, but ill-founded. I know that God can do nationally, even globally-scaled works through small people. So, of course my writing could turn out to be something desperately needed. It could turn out that way and I'd never know, or it could turn out that way and I'd be giving my autograph until I wished I'd never become a writer for different reasons.

But that's not even the heart issue. I know God can do huge things with one person if He chooses. I also know He can do "small" yet still highly important things with one person. The fact is, there's not a single person on this earth who doesn't have and fulfill a purpose.

I was struggling with wanting to choose my own purpose, when in reality, it's not my choice. I can choose the purpose of the fictional people I create, but I cannot choose my own. It's not my right. I didn't design myself, nor the people I'm around, nor the world I interact within. No, none of it. Everything I do in a fiction story I did none of for my own life.

It's not mine to question. Oh, sure, I can ask as long as I ask respectfully (how odd would it be if one of my characters were to demand of me that I change him from being a tailor to a taxi driver?), but once asked it's not mine to demand an answer. It is mine to simply accept that God is working and using me in His story as He sees fit. I don't have to know how all the intricacies work. Sure I'd like to. But I'm not my own author. Whoops. I merely play my part, which has importance though I may never know exactly what. I should stay open to the possibility of changes--or growth--of my role at the moment. But that doesn't make who I am, what I love, and what I do now flabbergastingly useless.

I didn't create it, but I have purpose, and really, I can't escape fulfilling a purpose. For God's glory and the good of those who love Him. Which, to put a finger on it, is what I really want.

That doesn't mean I can't choose to do other things, but I'm still unique me no matter what I do and will remain designed for what this unique me is needed. God gave me not only a love of others' stories but also of creating and sharing my own, and though I may sometimes try, I can't run from that. It will always be a part of me. I can grow as a person (please, no taller), expand my skills and knowledge, meet new people, try new things, and generally live life. Actually, I hope to do this. And that will only work to further my God-given purpose. Whether He chooses to reveal it to me at the time, later, or not at all is His call. But I can trust Him to use me for grand things.

It's a mystery. And yet it makes sense.

For now, I think I'll keep writing in re-remembered freedom.

Further Evidence that I Am an Introvert...and Loved

Gather 'round. While the thoughts are fresh in my mind, I will stay up late to tell you a story...


I go to a community group. It's a Bible study group with a strong focus on 1) God's Word and 2) being a tight-knit community of brothers and sisters in Christ. I love this group. We were going to get together on the evening of my birthday, and the lady of the leading couple sends me an email that I see in the morning. She wants to make me a cake, and would chocolate be okay? Of course I tell her chocolate would be fabulous and thank you kindly. Such a sweet gesture.

Then, the same lovely lady, a woman I graduated with and admire, sends a notice to the whole group, some twenty people, that it's my birthday and there will be cake.

Now I start to panic. I'm already feeling the spotlight. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a little limelight like anyone else, but I'm fine with it staying at little (and there are some situations [dance circle] in which I'd rather have none). So my little "don't look at me" mind starts to worry that, well, everyone will be looking at me.

And yet, at the same time, I know this is a heartfelt gesture of love toward me. So it's not all bad.

The day proceeds with a couple errands and life is fine. The only pressure I feel is getting everything done and making sure dinner is ready before I have to leave. Nothing abnormal there. There's meat in the fridge, I fix some instant mashed potatoes, eat a little, and head out the door.

I'm hoping for simple and not a lot of attention on me. There will be cake--awesome--for everyone, and I'll get to see these dear people, and we'll hang out and have a good, normal time.

I'd left the house a little later than I'd wanted, so I'm the last to arrive. I open the door, and one of my friends jokingly yells (but not really) "Surprise!" I laugh, wishing my mouth would function so I could say his name in greeting, but no words come out. (Yeah.) I am welcomed and well wished, and find my seat on the comfy couch next to another dear heart and able to see each person I have come to love and am learning to love better. Life is beautiful.

After we read through the book of Hebrews out loud (yes, the entire book--it was great) out comes the cake. I think someone mentions singing the birthday song, and I start my silent, head-shaking protest. You know, the one you mean, but don't, but really do? Well, Jaimie asks me if I really don't want everyone to sing the song, and I pivot my hand like a see-saw. I don't want to offend, and I know as a birthday well-wisher how fun it is to sing to the birthday guy or gal, but could it just not be about me? Or could I go into another room? Or better yet, let's not and say we did.

Well, as things are wont to do, delays happen. I think I've escaped and before the cake is cut I get a chance to get up from the couch and make sure I see it. Chocolate cake, a solid white icing background, and green-blue lettering of "Happy Birthday Dotty". (Did anyone get a picture? Jaimie, it was beautiful.)

Here, my memory fades. I don't remember why I didn't sit right back down. I don't think the cake was cut right then, either. I think there was still delay, then the song is brought up again. Now that I'm standing and it seems that all eyes are looking in the cake's and my direction, I would like to just hide for a minute. Yes, for some reason standing is worse. I'm too tall for all eyes on me when I'm standing.

Someone starts the song. At the time I could have pointed out the guilty party. Now I'm not sure who it was. Then the little living room rings with happy voices singing happy birthday to me.

My first reaction? I turn around and almost head into the bathroom to hide. I stop and turn back around because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I step toward the couch thinking that if I sit down at least that will be better. But I can't get there easily, and to get there anyway would make further scene, and I would likely trip and fall...obviously not preferred. So I stand, and try to look around the room (I think) at the smiling faces of friends who love me. I don't know how it's possible to stand six feet tall and will oneself to shrink without moving, but I did it. I'm grinning, and I mean it, but I'm also embarrassed a little. In the middle of the song, one friend sings, sings that my face is turning red. I can believe it.

But I guess that's par for the course. The song over, my seat reclaimed, the cake cut and shared (yummy), life is back to normal in my beautiful little community.

There truly are worse things than being surrounded by delight and love expressed. And I'm glad I don't have to hide from these things. I'm glad that these friends see me, know me, love me, and, yes, tease me. They've seen me weep; they've seen joy bubble out of me. They've seen the average days, too. They're there. And I really couldn't ask for more.

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.
-John 13:34-35

 I see this in our group, and I'm grateful for it. Thank you, all, for how you love me.

The Hunger Games

www.checkthefilm.com

 May The Odds...

The Hunger Games. A popular book, trilogy, and now movie. I have a lot of thoughts on the books, and I'm still somewhat processing the movie. It's a big story. And it's also not. What makes it great? What makes it not? And what do we do with that?

I have no idea what to tell you to do with the books, movie, or overall story. I don't know what to do with it myself. All I can do is share some of my mixed thoughts.

For starters, it's brilliant. No, really. The books, in first-person point of view, show us an intimate, in-depth look at a world that feels like the Great Depression + nuclear war aftereffects + ruling politics gone terribly, terribly wrong. And since it's in first person, we get just about every single thought and feeling that Katniss experiences. (I even used it in a paper I recently re-found as a useful book for examining the reality of facing one's own death.) And the use of present tense amplifies the immediacy and intensity of every. single. thing.

And the movie is a pretty great adaption of the story from the print media to audio/visual media. The actors portrayed their characters spot on. The additional points of view of the gamemakers, President Snow, and Rue's district fleshes out the world with things that wouldn't have translated from the book otherwise. The core conflict of the games is lived out. The subtext conflict of fighting corruption is shown a little more than in the book.

Some things in the movie were a little weird, like the crossover of worlds when Katniss has delusions from the Tracker Jacker venom. And, honestly I was really looking forward to the visual portrayal of Katniss' costumes, Cinna's masterpieces...and was disappointed. They were nice, but for me a little of a let down. And we didn't get to see Haymitch's character arc as clearly, even though we saw him working behind the scenes (a nice touch). But all in all, those things 1) aren't enough to detract from the movie as a whole and 2) are a part of the media.

It's Good, Or Is It?

It's a compelling story. Katniss obviously has a lot of determination and bravery. Peeta carries his compassion with him into the arena. Rue and Prim motivate Katniss to action. Haymitch...well, Haymitch is one of my favorite characters, sweetheart. He actually has a defined arc of character growth. The worlds are clearly distinct, and the complications are simple enough to follow while still making things interesting and hard for the characters. So what's the problem? What bothers me about the book and movie?

1.       As much as the characters distaste the concept of the Hunger Games to begin with, they follow through with it, not even really trying to stem the symptoms, much less trying to stop the problem.
2.       It's a rather draining read or viewing experience.
3.       Katniss' defiance is mostly accidental.
4.       And there is a distinct lack of hope. Throughout. Even the happy ending (in the book) has immediate hopelessness and loss to it. (The movie's happy ending felt like, "Yes, we 'won.' But it wasn't enough.")

And that last one, even more than the others individually, gives me pause. Put these all together, and by the end of the story, whether book or movie, I feel hollow, even dirty. I feel like I have been torn down just about as much as Katniss has been. But it's not because I've literally gone through everything she has, and it's not because I relate with her 100%. I like her okay, and I understand a degree of where she's coming from, her motivations, and her actions. But I'm very different from her and get frustrated along the way.

What Kind of Message?

It's not a happy book. Not every book has to be happy; I get that. But the "no hope" laced throughout and coloring the ending is, I think, damaging to people. People need hope. It's damaging to me. I need hope in order to get up in the morning. This work of fiction tends to sap it from me, translating into real life where I interact with real people, oozing a loss and hopelessness through my actions by taking root in my thoughts and feelings.

What is the message of The Hunger Games? What do you take away from it? Can you see how things could be better (and if you can, why couldn't/didn't the author?)? Is it a warning story? Watch out, or this will happen to our world (it is, after all, futuristic United States of America). Is that Suzanne Collins' goal? Is that enough?

Now we have to ask what we do with the story. It does get us to think, I'll give it that. Where do our thoughts take us?

And Happy Hunger Games

There are many more things I could say about The Hunger Games. Things I like, and things that concern me. And I could continue on into Catching Fire and Mockingjay. But for now, I think this is plenty.

Do you have a reply for my concerns? What are your thoughts on The Hunger Games, both book and movie?

Speak Up

I've had something on and off my mind for a while, and it's recently come up again. I've thought about blogging about it for months, but never got up the nerve to talk about it. My thoughts had been fairly organized, but now it's been a while so I have to do some re-thinking. But it's time. I may not be liked for my stance, I may get zero feedback, but it's important enough that it's time I step forward and say my peace.

I'll be back as soon as I can get my thoughts organized enough to share.

We Love Authors, Do We Not?

Ever been discouraged? Ever think "This is it. This is all there is for me. My life might as well be near its end."?

Me too.

Recently I was talking to my students about the two doors of story (for more on the two doors, read James Scott Bell's Plot and Structure). The first door is The Change that thrusts the character into the story. It's where the story actually begins. Before The Change we simply have introduction...of the main character, of important side characters or villains or love interests—whoever is logically located and important that early in the story, of the setting or world, of the rules of magic or law or ordinariness, and things along those lines. Sometimes the introduction is so brief it is practically a part of The Change. Sometimes there is a lot of setup before The Change.

Sometimes we see the story goal before The Change. But it's often more clearly expressed after The Change. That's when we really understand what the protagonist is trying to achieve or gain. That when the story embarks. It gets underway. It leaves the nest to build its own home. Gandalf marks the door and dwarves show up with a thievery plan. The Ring can no longer stay in the Shire. Bruce Wayne returns to become a symbol for Gotham. Dom Cobb takes one last job so he can return to his children. Echo Sackett arrives in town to collect her inheritance.

That when things get interesting. And complicated.

I was thinking about this, The Change, the first door. And I was thinking about my life. If my life were a story, how far into the tale of events would it be? The end? The introduction? The huge plummet before the resolution? Somewhere else entirely?

If I were writing a character based on myself—an early twenty-someone, aspiring but distracted writer, trying to help take care of her family though she is neither a wife nor mother, waiting for something to turn for the better but unsure if it will because many of her dreams have been crushed or forgotten, who is so confused as to where she is in life that she doesn't know how to navigate anymore—where would I put her in the story?

Actually, I would place her right before The Change, right before the first door where the story starts hopping along. Things would be building and falling into place, and I would set up a large story that she has no idea is about to happen. A grand, life-long adventure that would sweep her off her feet, build her up, break her heart, bring healing and unprecedented joy. She would take some steps that set her in the right direction, and the choices of others would send her on her way.

And I believe that I am a part of a story. A big story. Bigger than I'll ever author. It may not be exactly like I would plan it, but that's okay. That just means it'll be better. And it's far from over.

Did you know that Jesus is described as an author? I've recently been encouraged by Hebrews 6:9-12, 10:35-39, and 11:35-12:2.

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

Hebrews 12:1-2. (NKJ)

If we enjoy a story and think it's worthwhile, we like the author. Or, even if we don't like the author, we at least recognize that we like what they created.

God is The Author, and real life is His story. If I would care enough about a fictional person to give her something good and use her to tell a compelling story, how much more will my Father orchestrate my life to be and to receive blessings that point back to how good of an author He is?

Short Story - Garrett's Girls

Garrett’s Girls

by

Dorathea Maynard

A sixty-year-old hand clapped Garrett’s shoulder.
Garrett didn’t turn from the freshly filled grave to look at his younger brother. He looked up into the trees, trying to hear the birds chirping on the hot Saturday afternoon. A storm was building on the horizon. The weathermen had predicted it would arrive after one in the morning.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jimmy, said.
I should have been with her, Garrett thought. I should be with her now.
“You couldn’t have known Crystal would have a heart attack.”
Sweat dripped down a wrinkle on Garrett’s face and he shrugged Jimmy’s hand off.
Jimmy shuffled, backing up a step. “Okay.”
Garrett turned and looked at his baby brother’s brown hair, now almost all gray. “When did we get old, Jimmy?”
Jimmy smiled sadly, his eyes crinkling. “We didn’t do it on purpose. I think it snuck up on us.”
Looking into his brother’s eyes, Garrett saw an old, old man. “Do I look as bad as you?”
Jimmy’s smile grew. “You’ve got eight years on me. You look ten times worse.”
For one moment Garrett smiled, then he turned back to the dirt mound on his wife’s grave. “I can’t go on without her, Jim. Next year we would have celebrated fifty years. She wasn’t even old yet and as pretty as the day we wed.”
Silence filled the open sky and Garrett blinked back tears.
“Come on. I’ll take you home. Candace has dinner waiting, and I’m sure your grandkids want to see you.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, you can’t stay out here in this heat.”
Maybe I can. He didn’t move.
Jimmy sighed. “Garrett, staying won’t bring Crystal back.”
Maybe not. But if he stood in the scorching sun long enough, he might join her.
“Let’s go, Garrett. I can bring you back tomorrow.”
Garrett rubbed his wrinkled face with hands that weren’t as strong as they used to be. He stared at the fresh dirt. “No, Jimmy. I won’t need to come back tomorrow.”
Jimmy directed Garrett back to the sedan. “How long are your kids in town?”
“Candace and the kids are staying for another week. Doug has to head back after the weekend to get back to work.”
Jimmy nodded and unlocked the car doors. He slid into the driver seat and started the engine.
Silently promising Crystal that he wouldn’t be long, Garrett grabbed the handle and eased onto the leather seat.
At the house, the table was set for six, but there were chairs for seven. Crystal’s seat waited for its owner who would never return.
Garrett almost left at the sight, but Candace wiped her hands on her dark apron and wrapped him in a hug. “Hi, Daddy.”
He returned the hug and petted her silken blond braid, but couldn’t make his tongue respond. Candace guided him by his shoulders to his chair at the table, irritating his pride, but he said nothing.
Candace’s dark-haired girls, four and five year old Samantha and Danielle, filed silently into their chairs, sitting high enough at the table only because of the phone books on their seats.
Doug busied his hands with filling everyone’s plates with the steak and mixed vegetables. Once all the plates were passed around, he busied his napkin with wiping the food out of his sandy beard.
Candace kept her eyes lowered. Once or twice Jimmy tried to strike up a conversation about the kids’ spouses or work or lives. He received quiet, short answers that didn’t lead anywhere. When he turned to Danielle and Samantha, even they weren’t talkative.
Garrett pushed his food around on his plate.
Crystal should have been there. Her soft smile would have brightened anything. She always knew exactly what to say to start family conversations. She had a secure gentleness that put everyone at ease.
One of the lights above the table burned out, dimming the room.
Danielle sniffed.
Candace turned to her. “Honey? Are you okay?”
Danielle looked up at her mom, tears brimming in her bright blue eyes. Her chin quivered and she looked at Garrett, her wide eyes asking him to bring Grannma back.
A knife twisted in Garrett’s heart. Grannpap couldn’t fix this problem. He couldn’t stop his own hurt.
Samantha wiped her nose, not looking up.
Candace beckoned to her girls and held them in her arms.
Garrett scooted his chair back, scraping the feet on the linoleum.
Five pairs of eyes turned to look at him.
His chest was empty, like someone had ripped his heart out. He stood and escaped their painfully compassionate gazes to his room as quickly as his old hips would allow and locked the door.
That night, Garrett stayed in bed until well after Doug turned off the TV and the soft sounds of crying upstairs quieted. Jimmy had come to the door earlier, but when Garrett didn’t answer, he left for home. Everyone was asleep.
The wind blew against the house and rustled in the trees outside.
Garrett checked the clock.  It read 1:37.
He slid out from under the covers of his double bed and reached to his bedside table, nearly knocking over the old picture frame with his and Crystal's wedding portrait. He picked up the picture and pulled out a .22 pistol from the drawer.
That’s all it would take. One quick shot to the brain at point blank range. Then he would go see Crystal. He wouldn’t have to live another day without her. The pain that threatened to smother him would stop.
Thunder crashed and the rain began. It pattered against the bedroom windows and ran the panes’ length in streaks.
He cradled the gun. The clock flicked another minute. He turned to the tidy, empty half of the bed. Someone had made it earlier and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to fold the covers back.
Another roll of thunder filled the room.
He could time the lightning and his family might not even hear the gunshot.
Why had the worst happened? There had been no warning. He hadn’t even been nearby to call for help. Of all the worthless things, he had driven down to the pharmacy to pick up one of her prescriptions. When he got home he found her already dead, collapsed on the living room floor, duster nearby, her silver hair wrapped in a floral handkerchief.
A tear splashed his arm. He hadn’t even noticed he couldn’t see. He cleared his throat and set the photograph down to wipe his eyes. The pistol remained in his other hand. He stared at its shape in the dark room.
The minute on the clock shifted again.
Thunder rumbled long and low, reaching the windows and rattling them.
Garrett sighed. He was a coward. He couldn’t face living without Crystal, but he wasn’t sure he could pull the trigger, either.
He stared at the picture again, soaking in every tempting curve, every silky curl, every soft feature. Her silly grin from that day hadn’t dimmed over the years. She had always been there for him through everything.  Their financial hardships, colicky children, the miscarriage, storms, broken bones, lost jobs, everything. She had been the support he needed, and he had done his best to comfort her.
“I miss you,” he sobbed.
Lightning flashed, followed by a loud thunderclap.
He set his jaw and raised the pistol to his head. “I can’t live without you, Crystal.”
The rain danced on the windows.
Tears streamed down Garrett’s face.
“I’m coming.”
A bright explosion shook the house, nearly deafening Garrett. He froze.
The bedroom door crashed in and a dark bundle with long hair dashed to his side bouncing the mattress. Tiny warm hands wrapped around his waist.
Garrett looked down at the top of Danielle’s dark head and released his breath.
His granddaughter was quivering.
He set the gun in the still open side drawer and wrapped his arms around her. “What’s this? What are you doing up?”
“I’m scared, Grannpap.”
“Why? It’s just a little thunder.”
“It’s so loud.”
Another clap of thunder shook the house and she clung tighter.
Seconds later, Samantha came crashing into the room and landed in Garrett’s lap.
He held his girls close, shushing them, trying to speak softly, but they wouldn’t leave.
“Don’t go, Granp,” Samantha said.
Garrett twitched in surprise. “What do you mean, Samantha?”
Danielle piped up, “You won’t leave us, will you?”
The hollow in his chest weighed him down.
“Mommy says you’re very sad,” Danielle’s muffled voice came from his side. “And you might not want to stay here anymore.”
Garrett cocked his eyebrow. Candace was a little too smart for his good.
Samantha snuggled closer. “When will the thunder stop?”
Garrett sighed. The warmth of his two granddaughters soothed his aching heart.
“Please, can we stay with you tonight, Grannpap?” Danielle asked.
He looked at her.
Her blue eyes shone even in the dim room.
He glanced at the pistol and sighed.
Samantha pinched his stomach with her worried fingers. “Please let us stay, Granp.”
“Please, Grannpap?”
The rain let up and a wave of rolling thunder washed through the house.
Garrett sighed again. Not tonight, Crystal. I guess I’m still needed here.
Danielle wasn’t shaking anymore but she held on just as tight. Samantha was already asleep against his stomach.
“All right. You can stay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Danielle let go and crawled under the covers.
Garrett shifted the sleeping Samantha who stirred enough to nuzzle his arm and curl up where he set her on the bed. Both girls spent the night resting a hand or head on their Grannpap.
And Grannpap closed the drawer on his side table and set the wedding picture back up in front of the clock without checking the time.

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted

and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

-Psalm 34:18

Behind the Goal

A story begins with two things.  It needs four or six things (depending on how you like to count).
1) A protagonist,
2) an antagonist (who can be a villian),
3) directly conflicting goals between the two characters,
4) and motivation for them both.
Here's why.

I recently wrote a short story that went through a lot of revamping and rethinking before I got very far. My main character, Valerie, started out as a bounty hunter almost in a corner, choosing to fight instead of run. But she didn't care if she lived beyond the battle.

Um... No.

That is a weak, inactive protagonist. Not interesting to read (and a pain to write if you want to make the story go anywhere). My flaw was pointed out to me (I'm looking forward to the day I catch on quicker—or just stop making this error), and I rethought.

Okay, so Valerie wasn't who I thought she was. So who was she?

She needed a goal, yes, but she had that. Survival. It just wasn't strong enough. But wait, survival can be a very strong goal. What was missing? Motivation. She needed a reason to want to live. She needed a reason to want to take out the man hunting her.

This was my "Aha" moment. Or, if you prefer.

She needed a motivation behind her goal. That's not something I've heard explained much in my writing classes—at least, not in that wording. But it's one of the most necessary aspects of a protagonist, or any developed character. The why behind the what. And the answer? It had to do with a relationship. Relationships are always on the line in a story, the only question is which one. Then why that one. And, of course, how. Once you answer those questions, you're rolling.

I answered them. I answered the why she needed to survive with two relationships. A boyfriend. And his daughter. (It just became more interesting in your imagination, didn't it?) The answer to why those two relationships and how they're on the line has to do with the antagonist's goal and motivation. See how it all ties together? Before my eyes (...okay, twas all in my planning head) the story was building in strength. I had a goal with motivation for my protagonist and had further developed the direct conflict of goals with my antagonist/villian.

Now the story had heart. There was purpose to Valerie's actions. She had a reason to care enough to pursue her goal, and pursue it she did. Ta da.

So, a story needs...
1) a protagonist
2) with a [strong] goal
3) that's backed up by [deep] motivation,
4) and an antagonist/villian
5) with a [strong] opposing goal
6) that is also backed up by [deep] motivation.
Now you know why.
 

A Quick Look At Writing Techniques

We all know when we like something in a story, and when something doesn't sit right with us.  But do we always know why?  I'm taking a look at novels and looking specifically at how the writing techniques are applied.  My goal is to learn from published authors in order to improve my own story writing.  The technique of this post is character introduction.

       Character introduction is critical to hooking readers...and it's something I struggle with.  I've recently had a refresher lesson on character introductions, and I thought I could learn something from my look at The Path of the Fury.  Specifically I looked at the methods used to introduce the Fury and Alicia, two main characters in this novel.

       For the Fury, we have a prologue which largely uses habitat to introduce a nameless "she."  It gets the idea across, but it's not reader friendly.

       For starters, who is "she"?  As a reader, without that all-important name tag, I have nothing to hang onto.  I can barely see a murky black smokiness, but that's not really helpful.  We could be in the emptiness of space, among the stars.  We could be in a non-physical realm.  She's clearly not human, so what kind of alien is she?  She's the first character we meet, assuming we read the prologue, so is she the protagonist?  What are we dealing with here?  The blankness is too blank.  Give me something to go on.

       The prologue introduction shows we have a truly alien setting, but it's one that I personally cannot imagine well.

       It is effective with the emotional reaction—the confusion of suddenly missing a group and the loneliness that follows.  But even that is hard to grasp without knowing more about this group that "she" was a part of.

       Alicia's introduction is actually similar to the Fury's, though it works better since it uses some characteristic entry action (an action that flows from a character's personality and reveals a trait [bold, quirky, fearful, etc.] about the character, used in this case to introduce the character to the story, but the action does not have to be limited to the introducing moment).

       Once again, we have the nameless "she."  Is this the same "she" as from the prologue?  This she has hair, a face, and eyes and interacts with a physical world, so probably not, but it's not clarified (for all I knew the Fury was capable of that and just hadn't at the moment of her introduction).

       Also I'd like to know what the "tick" is that pulses within Alicia.  Without more details, that could mean too many different things to be helpful as a specific introduction tool this early on.

       But Alicia's action takes off and we see some of her character.  She is calculating, collected, and capable.  It tends to suggest either she's something of a robot—though maybe not since she has a brother—or she's hardened by battle, training, or some sort of harsh times.  This works better to whet my appetite to know more about her.  But I still wish I knew her name at this point.  I don't want to be surprised by the identity of the protagonist; I want to see the world through her eyes.

       And there is a lot of reminding the reader about her eyes.  They are green—jade to be specific.  Why should that be emphasized over and over and over?  It takes me out of her point-of-view and makes me see it as Dorathea outside of the story, watching a movie instead of allowing the closer connection to a protagonist that a novel should offer.

       So, how do I compare?  I practically open with a name, but instead of picking a main characteristic and using entry action to emphasize it, I tend to use physical description dumps, stopping my story without enough life to be memorable.  I forget that, like a stage play, everything should be exaggerated in order to convey the idea clearly to the audience in the back of the auditorium (my readers).

       Also, I'm not good with imagery and similies.  I fear overemphasizing the wrong characteristic (I need to choose a strategy) or offering the wrong dominant impression because I described it in a strange way.

       So, obviously I could use some work, and since looking at The Path of the Fury I've been more careful and deliberate in my introductions.  To keep getting better I could use a list of metaphors and similies, familiar and new, sensible and off-the-wall.  Maybe that would get the wheels in my head turning so I can capture the most appropriate entry action to introduce my characters with effective dominant impressions.  Also, I can look at how characteristic entry action is used for protagonists in several books and compare them to get a better idea of what other writers have done.

       What about you?  Do you have tricks, tips, or troubles introducing your characters?  Do certain methods employed by other writers confuse you?  Or have you read vivid introductions?  What have you seen that works, and what's not as strong as it could be?

Seeker's Intro

I missed a week of blogland and accidentally did not post last Friday.  So, let me tell you what I saw this week.

I saw an episode of Legend of the Seeker for the first time this week.  I think it was the first episode since all of the characters and the story problem were introduced.  I've seen lots of sci-fi on TV before, but I can't say I've ever seen a fantasy series.  It's cool.  Horses, pretty dresses, halfway decent special effect (some better than others).  I'd like to watch more and see where the story goes (I know, I'm behind the times. Please, no spoilers.).

I liked the intro to the characters and the story.  Richard's intro showed him in action in his element.  He's strong, capable, and clever enough to build a bridge by himself.  This we learn before a word is spoken.  It slows up the pace, but after Kahlan's flight a change in pace give viewers a chance to catch their breath.  Then we learn Richard's name with the little boy's "Hi, Richard," adding humor as well.  We're given a chance to see the caring side of Richard—he crosses the bridge to assure the boy it's safe—before we see his other, not quite as favorable characteristics.  This is a good thing.

I have been told to introduce my protagonists at their best.  Yes, they should grow throughout the story, but readers need a reason to want to follow that growth.  This is accomplished by showing the protagonist at his best at the time.

With Richard, once the trouble starts we see he is reluctant, a tad whiny, and not perhaps the most respectful of young men.  But, since I have seen him hard at work and looking out for a little boy, I have hope for him, so I want to keep watching.

Is Richard's introduction dishonest?  I don't think so.  It's just a layer of him, one that we need.  When everything's hunky dory, he is fine, hardworking, and nice.  When things fall apart, he's not so much, but we know that he can be.  He just needs the motivation to reach for the story goal.  Once he's motivated, we have a good dynamic in this one character to keep things real and interesting.  What will kind, stubborn, capable, resistant, hardworking, lazy Richard do when x disaster is thrown in his face?

Good question.  Don't you want to know?
 

The End Has Come

Ironically, there was never an end to When the End Comes...  Until now.


And, yes, my diet was ruined.  Though I wasn't really on a specific plan, other than to eat.  Come to think of it, I haven't stopped eating, so maybe my diet wasn't ruined?

Favorite ...Disney Movie

On a recent road trip, out of the blue I asked everyone in the car, "What's your favorite Disney movie?"

When it was my turn to answer, I couldn't limit to just one.  I like several, and for different reasons.  Here's the list I came up with.

• Sleeping Beauty  ~  Princess Aurora is beautiful, but it's Prince Phillip and Merryweather, the fighters and defenders of the movie, who make this one sweet.  I loved Merryweather's spunk so much, I dressed like her for Halloween once.  And who could turn down a man who would face and defeat a dragon of Hell to save his love?
• Beauty and the Beast  ~  The friendship that grows from this one is the highlight of the story.  Belle learns to see past the outward appearance, and she notices when the Beast is selfless.  The Beast is given a chance to act like a human, and the transformation of his heart melts mine.
• Mulan  ~  A coming-of-age story with honor, danger, a hopeful wish of romance, building friendships, and a large goal.  All with a happy ending.  This is my favorite type of story to write, and this one is arranged beautifully.
• The Princess and the Frog  ~  I love to watch opposites Naveen and Tiana, a lazy party guy and a workaholic woman, find the balance of play and work.  And I like that Naveen catches on a little quicker than Tiana does and is ready to sacrifice.  These two are crafted well for each other.
• Tangled  ~  The adventure is fun, Mother Gothel is frighteningly convincing - making an excellent villain, and I couldn't love Eugene and Rapunzel more.  But the end makes this movie.  Eugene's sacrifice ties my stomach in knots, and every time I fear that all is lost.  Yet in that loss, it is beautiful because Eugene's choice reminds me of Jesus of the Bible on His way to and hanging from the cross.  It leaves me speechless.

What's your favorite Disney movie?  What about it touches your heart?

Present, Experiences, Directly, Watched, Isn't, True

A thought built one sentence at a time with the goal of around five sentences in a week and the desperate attempt at a sensible overall idea tied together by the end. The post title will be one word from each sentence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Characters' pasts shape their present.

Experiences off the page, back in gradeschool, impact their thoughts today.

Though they may not know it directly.

Have you ever watched The Kid?

Isn't it true?

Isn't it true of you, too?

Gotta work for my dreams.

I take from Disney's "The Princess and the Frog", other stories, and from life.  You gotta work for your dreams.  I've gotta work for mine.

If life were handed to you on a silver platter, would that be any fun?  Well, okay, yes it would.  Sort of.  Work isn't a bad thing.  Adam and Eve worked before they sinned when the world was without blemish, so I think it's safe to understand that work, of itself, is not a bad thing.  And dedicated work pays off.  The great people of history are renowned because they didn't quit, and they didn't sluff off the tasks at hand.  They worked for their goals and dreams, and it paid off.

I need to remember this.  I forget and tend to think, "It's my day off.  I should study or outline a story, but it's my 'day off.'  I don't want to work today."  But you know what?  Nothing gets accomplished that way.  I dream of getting paid to write, but a dream without work behind it is a daydream—thin, fleeting, and far from satisfying.

I'm not knocking rest and taking time to smell the roses.  Actually, I'm all about rest.  I love rest; it's a great pastime.  But remembering that work is a good thing and that it leads to better things, well, it's something I need to do a little more often.  Perhaps remembering that working for something, toward a goal, does actually lead to better things is the hardest part for me.

Every protagonist in a story works for their goal (all characters should).  Did you ever wonder why characters not only have to have a dream or a goal but must work to achieve it?  Why it's not going to be handed to them?  Because our goals are not going to be handed to us.

I need to remember that my goals are achievable, and that should give me heart.  I like stories that show just how hard a character had to work for the goal, because when it's achieved, I am inspired.  I am motivated.

So, do this: Realize that fiction is what it is and has the plot elements that it does for a reason.  It's a reflection of the challenges and the grandness of the life we live.  Dream bigger than fiction, because life is bigger than fiction, and work for your dreams.

I'ma gonna get up now and get to it.  I daydream big.  Now it's time to make it real.


P.S. - If you say, hear, or think the word "life" enough times, it starts to sound really funny.  Life!

Fiction ...And Real Life... Can Tie Together

Marriage is not the solution because singleness is not a problem.  They are both good.

Ah, okay.  Now that I have that lovely thesis statement, the rest of this post may or may not have anything to do with it.  You see, I was writing a novel (don't worry, I still am).  I wanted it to be a romance.  I haven't written romance stories before (though I do like the subplot option sometimes) but my best friend writes romance, I like romances, and I thought I'd give it a try.

Welp, I tried.  Moving on.

No, really, I did try.  I had my characters semi-solid in my mind, my setting basically figured out, and a fair bit of the backstory in my head.  But probably about five or seven thousand words into it, I realized that my leading man would never choose the leading lady over his fiancée if the two women were side by side.  Even though the direct comparison is impossible in the story, it wouldn't be very satisfying to anyone (the characters, myself, and most importantly readers) if my leading lady was a second best.

And so, the romance died.  My book turned on its head, and I was left trying to patch together a plot that works and satisfies.  But, never fear (not that you would, and that's okay), that is happening.  I am far far far behind where I wished to be, but that is also in the works.

So I guess the whole couples/marriage/single thing has been in my mind for a while.  Concentrated, that is, on my story.  Now, I want my leading lady, the main protagonist, to be satisfied and happy even with being single.  But, I confess, it was pretty hard to figure out how to do that for my character when I couldn't do it for myself.

Thus the thesis.  (Hey, I am tying this together!)  Singleness is not a problem to be solved because it's not a problem.  Singleness and marriage are both good things in their own time.  It's just something that I've come to realize recently, largely due to a friend sharing this.  I think my life had been leading up to hearing that for...oh, say...eh, we'll call it six or seven months.  Let's not think about it too hard; just recognize that it's been a process.

Now, I am freed of the worries, fears, and even aimless hopes that I personally have had for years.  I have never been more excited to be single.  Maybe I won't be single for my whole life...and maybe I will.  But now I understand that singleness is not a problem.  It is a good thing to be enjoyed and used to its fullest.

Now I think I can give my character the same appreciation.

Problem solved.