It is December 31st, 2018. For some it is the night before a new beginning. Others would call it an ending. Many make resolutions. I resolved years ago (as many of you already know) not to make resolutions, choosing to make changes in behavior when I found them necessary. Although I don’t plan to make any solid resolutions, I do have a percolating character alteration begging for activation.
For the majority of my life I thought I was an extrovert. It wasn’t until 2018 that someone suggested the true differentiation between extrovert and introvert was determined by how one unwinds or recharges; with or without people. I was posed with the question, “Do your batteries recharge in a night out with friends, or by yourself?” My answer came to me without hesitation. I recharge by myself with my a guitar or banjo, with a walk in the woods, or with a book. Or just sitting with a cup of tea, staring out at my garden or at the wood burning in my fireplace. I am, alas, an introvert.
For many of my friends this is frustrating because when I am afforded a precious nugget of free time, I head to one of my recharging stations and not to the phone. In fact, I think I may be allergic to phone calls, and perhaps communication in general. I’m one of those people who can go on a long car ride with a friend and not say anything, gaining enjoyment from the companionship with very few words exchanged. I have so many precious friends that I seemingly neglect, gaining enjoyment simply from knowing they are there. But to my friends this resounds as neglect.
It’s silly really, because once I’m on the phone or receive an email reply, etc., I enjoy the connection. And being a friend more or less necessitates a bit of effort on both sides, I suppose. So my unresolution is to let the door to my lair creek open more frequently, knock down some cobwebs, and refresh myself on how to dial out on my phone.
So, as I battle the tension between my introverted nature and my desire to be a better friend (and responsible blogging author) I’ll stare down my cell phone until I finally goad myself into renewing some contacts. Maybe I’ll practice finger exercises so I don’t sprain a digit making my first phone call or email. And to those of you, my friends, who have faithfully put up with my ongoing silence, I thank you very sincerely. My silence is not a negative reflection on you, but a statement of faith in our friendship.
Happy New Year! May it take you around many happy corners.
This is a Flash piece (meaning it is approximately 1000 words, hints of a larger story, and has a twist at the end). This particular piece would work better as a play due to the large number of characters which make it a rocky read as Flash. But I digress… I give you, Scandalon.
“How old is she, anyway?“ Vera set her tea down on the table in the small home where six friends had gathered. She took a cookie from her plate holding her little finger in the air as she nibbled in dainty crunches.
Spoons tinkled. Dishes clanked. Candlelight danced. Aromas teased the appetite.
”She’s barely a woman,” said Lydia. “More like a child. It’s a pity.“
“It’s very sad,” added Rachel, flicking a crumb from her dress to the floor. “Having a child when you’re that young… well, you never really grow up yourself.” She turned to look toward the stove. “Sarah, what is that delightful smell?”
“Well, she should simply feel lucky Joe didn’t leave her,” Lydia interrupted before Sarah could answer Rachel’s question. Lydia’s jet-black hair, streaked with gray from years of worrying about the business of others, was up in a tight bun delicately circled about by small ringlets. Dressed in the finest, most expensive clothing, she presented more as royalty than common.
“I feel sorry for her.” Joanna’s kind and empathetic tone made Lydia’s mouth fall agape. “That’s a long journey and she’s about to give birth. I wonder if she already has.”
“Feel sorry for her?” Lydia was indignant. “She brought it upon herself.”
“Oh my!” Rachel groaned in dramatic sympathy. “The miles must be torture. I never could have made that journey when I carried my oldest. Oh the sickness I suffered!” She stood and made her way to the stove.
Lydia rolled her eyes behind Rachel’s back.
“What is Joe thinking taking her that far?” Joanna added.
“It’s not like he had a choice,” replied Rachel, looking in the oven to find the source of the smell.
“That much is true, very true,” said Ruth, gaining nods from the others.
“What an extraordinary challah! Are those apples?” said Rachel happily, closing the oven. “You’ll have to tell me your secret, Sarah.”
“I’ll take my secret to the grave,” Sarah offered a smug smile.
“Certainly he had a choice!” Lydia said boldly, tapping her finger on the table with authority. “He should have left that unfaithful, pregnant whore behind.”
The ladies gasped.
“Lydia, please!” Sarah corrected. “Such a strong word.”
“He did not owe her a thing,” Lydia continued, wagging her finger in the air. “He should have left. He’s torturing himself and bringing shame on the family. No one approves of the marriage. No one.”
“She’ll do it again,” added Vera, searching the plate of cookies for her favorites. “Those kind always do and the child isn’t his so why should he ruin his life? He’s a fool.”
“I’ll not have them in my home, I’ll clarify that right now!” Ruth declared. “At their wedding she’ll have to find someone to hold the baby. It most certainly will not be me!”
“You won’t catch me anywhere near that wedding,” said Lydia.
“Perhaps she was taken against her will.” Sarah took the challah out of the oven.
“Ha!” Lydia shook her head. “I’ve heard nothing mentioned of such a situation. She’s just lucky she didn’t get caught in the act.”
“Do you think the child is Joe’s and he just made up a story?” Rachel asked again.
“Why would he do that?” Vera asked, mocking Rachel’s question. “If he was trying to clear his name he would have left her.”
“As he should have!” Ruth declared.
“Joe is a good man,” said Lydia. “He never misses services, he prays three times a day, he gives to the poor and he observes all the laws.” Lydia tapped her points out on each finger. “He’s devout. She’s the problem.”
“The young these days. They have no self restraint,” added Ruth. “Rumor has it that she can’t even cook!”
“When would she learn to cook?” Lydia waved her hands at Ruth as if to push her words away. “Lovers take a great deal of time.”
Vera and Ruth chuckled at Lydia’s comment.
Joanna tried unsuccessfully to cover her distaste at the conversation by standing to get hot tea from the pot on the stove as Sarah served the challah.
“She used to be such an example,” said Vera. “Other young women looked up to her and now she’s leading the way for harlotry,” said Vera. “And Joe isn’t a real man if he lets her walk over him like that.”
Sarah served the hot challah to the ladies in small pieces.
“I’ve seen her make eyes at men,” said Ruth. “Her affairs are no surprise to me.”
“I think you’re just jealous that Joe picked her instead of you.” Joanna sat back down with her fresh cup of tea.
The ladies chuckled – all but Ruth.
“You make light of a serious situation,” said Ruth. “Now that I know how foolish and irrational he can be I would certainly never even return his greeting if I passed him on the road!”
“Sarah, I cannot believe it!” Rachel spoke with her mouth full. “You’ve put hard drink in this challah!”
Sarah dismissed the comment with the wave of a hand.
“What is he planning to do? Just raise the child as his own?” asked Vera. “What of the real father? The real father could try to interfere.”
“If it’s a boy, Joe will be handing down his inheritance to another man’s son.” Lydia raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of tea.
The ladies murmured.
“What of their future children?” Rachel asked. “Certainly there is bound to be some animosity if the oldest receives an inheritance ahead of true sons.”
“Thankless, thoughtless whore.” Vera was visibly angered.
“Vera! That word!” Sarah shook her head.
“She’s more than a whore,” added Lydia. “She’s crazy.”
“She’s not crazy,” Joanna said, shaking her head at all the women and their gossip.
“Certainly she is. Haven’t you heard who she says the father is?” Lydia leaned over the table to spill her secret to eager ears.
“She admitted to the impropriety?” Vera gasped. “Why have you not said something before now?”
All the women began to speak at once and Lydia clapped her hands and held them out to calm the ladies. The room fell silent, waiting for the new bit of news.
“Well, who is it, Lydia?” said Sarah. “Is it a teacher?”
“Or a city leader?” Ruth added.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “For goodness sake, Lydia! Don’t leave us in such tension!”
“Are you ready for this?” Lydia said, chuckling to herself. “According to her, the father of the child is none other than… God.”
Thank you, Launching Success, and students of this round of Literary Clay. Stay tuned for future workshops. I’m developing new sessions to add to the originals that will help you pull your stories from the shadows of your mind into a readable form that can be shared!
Until next time, cheers and happy writing.
I’ve been asked what the background image is on my site. It’s one of my favorite chairs. Photos of it appear in various places – as a background on this site (though seriously edited), on social media, and in a book that is soon to be released called Fingerprints on my Heart.
Now, get writing.
Gabe was in line for coffee at a street corner coffee vendor and heard a commotion behind him. He turned to see a woman run out of a bank and a man with a blue jacket chase her and take her to the ground. Gabe was incensed that some nasty wicked male individual was assaulting an innocent female. Why he just stood there and watched it go down is perhaps evidence to where he lives, or perhaps how badly he needed caffeine, but that’s a different topic entirely. Moments later, Gabe’s friend Julie came out of the bank and joined him in line.
“Did you see that lady who robbed the bank? That security guard was on her in an instant!”
I just disclosed what Gabe was seeing and thinking: Gabe’s point of view, or POV. Julie came up later and offered her POV, correcting the misconception, but she had to speak to offer her thoughts. I did not reveal them because the story is unfolding through the eyes of Gabe, not Julie.
Why is POV so important? Why can’t I just give out all the thoughts of all my characters?
Let’s pretend for a moment that you’re a waiter or waitress and you’ve forgotten your pen. You must remember the orders of every person in your section. How many orders will you be able to take before you’re stealing crayons out of the kids menu bin? When you’re revealing every thought of every character, you’re asking your reader to keep track of who is thinking what when. They’ll not only weary of looking back through past chapters to refresh their memories as to who the guy was that trained worms to hula, they probably won’t know with confidence who your main character is. Okay, they’d remember hula worm guy. Who wouldn’t? But hopefully you get my point.
Does that mean I can never use multiple POVs?
No, no, no. It can be used strategically and effectively in limited amounts. But you’re limiting yourself when you do it.
“Wait, what? Limiting myself?! But I’m giving extra information? How is that limiting myself?”
Ahhhh, good question. Let’s look at the first paragraph again. Gabe is standing in line for coffee and one of those cookies with the pink frosting, watching a woman be assaulted, or so he thinks. He has no idea what others are thinking and so I am able to mislead my reader on purpose in order to surprise or shock them later. If you’re divulging everyone’s thoughts (or even just a few) all along the way you’re removing the mystique of your story. It is much more intriguing to describe other’s actions through the eyes of your protagonist (main character) so the reader has to draw their own conclusions. It gives you the control over your reader that you need to keep them reading. Want more examples? You need my Literary Clay workshop, Building Strong Characters. I tackle it in The Trail of a Muse, also.
Multiple POVs is actually a fun way to write if you’re up for the challenge, but I wouldn’t advise it in a normal every day story. I know, I know. I’ve seen it done, too. In some classics, even. Who am I to criticize the greats? But it can be distracting and it is generally frowned upon in writing circles, and unless your last name is already among the greats, you’re going to have to start at the bottom like the rest of us. But, one great way to use multiple POV”s is… hmmm. I think I’ll save that little secret for another time, or for those who really want to know. You know where to find me.
Until next time, don’t just write, WRITE!
Thank you, NegativeSpace, for the lab photo.
Growling, she flashed her dagger like teeth in the piercing morning rays as she extracted herself from the comfort of her warm den. The air held a tension as she groped her way in the first light like an agitated, fearsome sloth, her talons scraping on the rock floor as small creatures scurried noisily around her. A snarl sent the creatures scurrying but for a moment. Busily they worked to distract her, thwarted only momentarily by her periodic growls. A flash of fire set a pot bubbling. The aroma of a brown, gooey substance charged the lair. With the redolence, the creatures became more bold, taunting her; goading her. She whirled once and again, flashing her teeth and snarling at the grievous pests. They cackled and lept out of her grasp each time, knocking things down, stirring up dust; their noisy raucous vexing her to the edge of ferocity. Her shiny talons encircled a cup in a firm clutch and she dipped it into the hot caustic liquid. Snarling and backing into a corner with her pungent prize, she lashed again at the pests, baring her teeth a final time before a long and resolved drink.
“My, doesn’t the sun look lovely this morning, children?” she said, setting her cup on the counter. “Ah, what a difference a cup of coffee makes. LIZZIE! Get off that bookcase right NOW! Cereal anyone? Then we can go to the park.”
Copyright 2010 Shai Adair
“I don’t know where to start,” I was told by a very creative story teller. He is a seriously talented individual who can think of awe inspiring stories on the fly! But when asked to put his stories into writing so they can be shared or read by others, he declined based on his mental block of how to start. This is tragic! If this is you, I’ll tell you what I told him. Read on.
Wait, what? Yes, I just gave you permission to make a confusing mess. Rome wasn’t built in a day and it probably looked like an ugly pile of rocks in the beginning. My advice to you is to open a document and simply start typing. You may think it’s crazy and over simplified but you have a log jam in your imagination holding your creativity hostage. If you let the log jam go, with all its messy consequences, you’ll start writing.
When I first started writing Mariah’s Invisible Sword, I had no idea what the ending would be or where my characters would go. I simply had a vision in my head of a vile man dragging a woman across the snow in a blizzard. So, that’s the first thing I wrote. Then I let the scene unfold in my head and just kept typing. I had things in the wrong order, people with names like ‘guy 2’, part way through I changed my mind about things and left the errors, pushed onward and filled up a page for an hour. When I was done, I had something to work with – I edited the part I changed halfway through, named ‘guy 2’ Ameer, and found other ideas begin to blossom. Writing became less awkward and now I have a published book that my fans rave about.
I’m not saying there won’t be moments of writer’s block, but there are ways around any block. And that, friend, is the topic for another Pen Tip, as is editing your story.
If you made it to the bottom of this, you probably have a story wanting to hammer its way out of your subconscious (or conscious). A story is like clay, and if you never take it out of its packaging, it will never be anything other than a lump hidden away in an airtight bag. Here’s my challenge: Set a timer, start writing, make a mess, and then let me know how it went. But promise yourself you’ll get the story out of your head and into a document. Ugly is acceptable when you’re unpacking the clay. Beauty happens later – so what are you waiting for? Write!
How do you keep your book from landing at the second hand store next to a literary work about bent staples or diverse types of manure? Or worse, what if your book never leaves your own hand? If a reader can’t connect with your characters they’ll stop reading, and that’s death to a writer.
In five days I will be at Launching Success teaching a Literary Clay class called Building Strong Characters. In this session you will explore, and practice, how to put meat on the bones of your characters and coerce them to walk out into the land of the (virtually) living.
It’s only $15 for the two hour workshop, so what do you have to lose? (Other than dull characters that elicit the noise of crickets rather than gasps from a reader.)
Nov 12th 10a-12p Building Strong Characters
Give your characters the magnetism that develops a sense of connection with your readers. Come with existing ideas, or brainstorm some new ones. In this session, your characters will begin to take on a life of their own. Students are encouraged to bring a laptop to put new learning into practice during the class.
The 12th is Veteran’s day and we will begin the class with a moment of silence in appreciation of those Veterans who have given themselves to keep our country safe! Without them, we would not have life as we currently know it. They deserve our respect and we’ll give it.