Whisperings

My play is calling to me.

Well, its characters are, and that means I need to devote the afternoon to writing (once my classes are over and I've eaten a little lunch). You see, my characters had been talking and interacting all night while I slept, and they gave me a rather interesting dream.

I dreamed last night that I was with a film star... though now the identity of the star escapes me. It's not the first time I've dreamed of film stars. I always pick the weird ones, too, the ones I'm not at all attracted to, like Rutger Hauer, Bobcat Goldthwait, etc. I once dreamed Desi Arnaz had asked my mom to marry me, and she was trying to urge me into it, even though he was really, really old (he died less than a week after I'd had the dream).

Anyway, I had separated from my husband and hadn't seen my two kids, and this star was trying to woo me into becoming his significant other, furnishing his fabulous apartment with stuff he thought I'd want, etc. I was holding back, cautious, wanting to visit my kids and husband, but when I went to our house (a brownstone in Chicago, a place and kind of house I would never live in, mind you), I discovered that my husband had left for Europe (probably in anger that I'd left) and the kids were living with my mother-in-law.

The frightening part of this is that everything was unemotional, as if I was afraid to feel anything about my husband, or this actor guy, or my own kids. I was numb, rather like the female character of my play is feeling. I kept wondering, while dreaming, what was going to happen to wake me up, and I realized that the only thing which could break me out of the misty funk I was in was my husband--his physical presence, his touch, a word of caring or recognition.

I woke up, and suddenly I knew what to do with my characters. They fell into place beautifully, and I knew that my main character had to know, in some real, certain way, that her husband wouldn't abandon her, that he'd be glued to her no matter how broken she was. Only then could she heal. If she thought he could get up and leave, she'd leave him first, just so that she wasn't the one left behind. And he needed the same assurance, that she wouldn't leave him like she'd left her own father, left so many other boyfriends before she'd met him, left so many jobs, left places and friends, anything that wore on her too much. His greatest fear was that she would take off, and he'd never see her again.

Heavy stuff for a morning, I know, but I appreciate my characters working through this for me, so that I could have the answers when I woke.

Now if I could just figure out who that film star was.

Help Me, I'm Stuck!

I've been working on my novel's revision over the last two days, but I can't get any further if I don't clear something up. It's a pretty serious set of circumstances, so if you're squeamish, I wouldn't read any further. 

I have a boy in my novel named Ben, who is fourteen (and, yes, I know that's young), and he's grown up in Oklahoma with three strikes against him: 

1. He's deaf.

2. He's a minority (mixed race).

3. He's a foster kid. 

Now, before you all get mad at me, no, I am not racist--but I lived in Oklahoma long enough to know how minorities were treated there. That's not what is at issue here, even though his minority status has had an effect on his life, adding more to his already pretty tough existence.

The problem I'm dealing with is that this boy's been in some pretty tough foster situations, and his way of coping has been through sex. One foster mom sexually abused him, starting this whole cycle going, and since then the homes he's been in haven't helped. He was in a competitive situation with a couple of foster kids, both girls, and his way of fighting back was to charm them into having a relationship with him. Both ended in pregnancy, and he denied both girls' stories when they told the foster parents, ensuring both girls would be sent away to other homes. His deafness actually worked in his favor, for it made his foster parents each time think such a relationship was impossible.

The first girl got an abortion and was sent off to another family, and only much later was Ben moved (for other reasons). When Ben did the same thing to the second girl, she committed suicide. This event cut him deeply (deservedly so, I think). 

This is all past stuff, though, for now Ben is on this boat with Noah and his daughters--by chance--and the youngest girl is in love with him. (It's a modern-day Noah's Ark story.) And he's scared to death of doing something awful all over again. Even more, he can't forgive himself for what he's already done, and he can't reconcile to himself that he's alive when it seems like the whole rest of the world is dead (they aren't all dead, but nobody knows that yet). He actually tried to throw himself off the boat the first night, once he realized where he was and what had happened, but Noah and several others prevented him from dying that first night. 

I guess I have a few questions, and I hope some of you can help me with them:

1. Is his crime unforgivable (in other words, is it too awful for readers to forgive)? 

2. Is his crime too soft (i.e., is he making too much of it and just sounding whiny)?

3. How can he express what he's done in writing? The daughter's learned some sign language, but not enough for me to just translate it into dialogue like I do the simpler exchanges--he has to write it out. I've written out about 100 versions of this--in one-sentence format--and every one has sounded downright stupid. 

I just need some intelligent opinions about this--even if it's to tell me that none of it makes a bit of sense. 

What do you think?

The Wisdom of Wilkins Micawber

*Before I get into today's blog--I have an update from yesterday's: It seems the little boy I mentioned refused to go to school at all, and he actually started hyperventilating at the prospect of another day there. Not great news. The mother doesn't know how she's going to pull this off.*

Now to today's:  

I've been reading--well, re-reading for the third time--Charles Dickens' David Copperfield, my favorite of his books, and the most autobiographical of any of them. (Please don't tell me I don't have time to do this. I know. I'm at expert at filling my life with tons of projects I have no time for). 

Anyway, the characters are eccentric and funny, disturbingly real and joyous (no wonder I like them), and they are also full of good advice. One such lovely character is that of Wilkins Micawber, a man fashioned after Dickens' own father. David Copperfield lives as a boarder in this man's house for about a year, and when Micawber is about to move away, he gives him two pieces of great advice. Here's the first:

My advice is, never do tomorrow what you can do today. 

Procrastination is the thief of time. Collar him! (p. 230)

Who knew that Micawber and I agreed on this. It's the reason I make obsessive lists, the reason I work hard every single day, blogging here before I've even dressed for the day, grading papers at the first opportunity, using every second of the day to do something useful and creative. But what happens if we procrastinate? I know exactly what happens, at least for me: the waiting projects loom over me, weighing me down, waking me in the middle of the night. Stuff undone undoes me, and my life is harder because of the put off tasks, not easier. 

Now to Micawber's other piece of advice, one most Americans could very well pay attention to:

Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen, 

nineteen and six, result happiness. Annual income twenty 

pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, 

result misery. The blossom is blighted, the leaf is withered, 

the god of day goes down upon the dreary scene, and -- and 

in short you are for ever floored. As I am!   (p. 231)

Obviously, Americans are not paid in pounds, nor are they likely to earn only the equivalent of twenty, but the point is still the same: live within your means, and you will have peace of mind, security, and resulting "happiness." Live beyond your means, and accumulate debt more and more each year, and your stress will grow with it, it will pull from future income, and you will be in "misery." In this case, Wilkins Micawber knew the truth of this because he lived it, spending months at a time in debtor's prison because he didn't live within his means, even while his wife was nursing twins and his family were starving.

I could rant about this for a while, but I won't. The quotes pretty much speak for themselves. I'll have more kernels of truth next time, different advice from another unusual character. 

Re-Writing

Since I've already worked on my play for TWO hours this morning (hurray for me!), I can blog... 

It appears that "revision" was the incorrect word to use for the work I've been doing on my play. I've essentially been rewriting it. Only one scene escaped the scrap pile. 

What have I done to it? Well, after my fabulous playwrights group (I so love them) delved through the first scene, the number one piece of advice I received was "tighten." But I couldn't just take out a few exchanges. I had four women all talking around each other, creating a world where the main character--Mary, the youngest of the four women--had no power, no say in how the others perceived her. How was I supposed to tighten that?

The solution? Not cutting out bits of dialogue here and there. That simply wasn't enough. I printed off the scene, then deleted the electronic copy and started over, this time with the main character and only her mother, who was on the phone with a third character. Suddenly the misunderstandings, the mixed up memories, and the shifts in control occurred between the two most important characters, and no time was wasted in trying to develop two other women who were not key to the play's ideas.

A 26-page scene became an 11-page scene, and went from distracted and manic to focused and powerful. Was it easy? Not at all. But it worked, so I don't mind the extra time it took in the slightest.

Once the two characters were gone, though, all but the second scene fell, too. But I realized that the main weaknesses of the play would also be resolved, and the action would have a focus I could never have accomplished had I held onto those characters. 

Suddenly the arc of the story became clear: two arcs, one with the main character moving up, slowly making choices that would allow her to live, while her mother's arc fell, as her disease ate her mind, turned her into a child, and finally killed her. In the past, readers (actors, theatre people, playwrights) had asked me which person the story was about. Now I knew the answer. It was about both of them, moving in different directions. One story couldn't work without the other.

I have probably an hour of work left, and the play will be done. I already know how the final scene will play out. Amazing what I can accomplish when I don't hold myself back. 

What's most ironic is that this is exactly what my main character learns... not to hold herself back... 

Art imitates life.

Which Character are You?

I finally saw Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince yesterday... and I couldn't get to sleep last night (or sleep past 6 this morning) from thinking about it. If you haven't seen it, though, don't worry. I'm adept at not spoiling the plot of movies. You won't find any clues in here about what goes on in the film.

I've always identified myself with Hermoine--book smart and loyal--yet I discovered while watching the film that I find links to many of the HP characters, even Dumbledore (perhaps it's the professor in me). The only character I consistently don't identify with is Ron Weasley. 

But this is not new. I find myself identifying with other characters in other books, too, in various ways. That is the magic of literature, a power writing has to create a fictive world which ties strongly to the real one we are living within, despite huge differences between worlds. I can feel, for a few hours, as if I am Harry Potter, undervalued, lonely, yet capable of great things. I can feel like Emma Bovary, unsatisfied with my world as it is, wondering how to make it better (even if I wouldn't make the choices she did in Flaubert's novel). It seems many readers identified themselves with Emma, and some claimed Flaubert wrote the novel based on them, yet when asked who Emma was, he said, "C'est moi." ("It is I.")

I may most identify with the main character of Robin McKinley's The Blue Sword, for she seems utterly ordinary, yet finds herself drawn, inexplicably, to a world far different than her known world... and others see the potential in her long before she realizes it herself (rather like Harry Potter). I also identify with Spider Man (yes, yes, I said it!), mainly because my talents are hidden to most people--both by chance and by my own design.

With whom do you identify? What characters are most like you? Feel free to choose any book or film you like, or several characters from several books or films, but tell me what characters resemble you. Perhaps we have a few characters in common.

What the Biggest Loser Taught Me

Yes, I watch The Biggest Loser. I almost quit watching after every episode became two hours long (during the writers' strike), but my husband always tapes it, so I watch along. 

I won't bore you with my qualms at watching people work out for hours a day and lose 15 lbs. in a week. I'll let you make your own judgment calls on that one. But this season's winner has brought something to my attention that I feel I should comment on, if only because it's something that plays out both in my real life and in my writing. 

The winner, a woman named Helen, seems overall to be a nice person. I should be happy she won, happy she gained control over her weight and lost as much as she did. I should be happy she got all that money. 

But I'm not. 

And it isn't because I was particularly rooting for either of the other players. It's because of one event, which occurred somewhere in the middle of the show's running. At one point, Helen, who came to the ranch with her daughter as her partner, convinced her daughter to volunteer to go home instead of her mother so that Helen could stay at the ranch.

In contrast, another parent-child team made it all the way to the finals, yet Ron (aka, "The Godfather") had only one interest: his son. When they both came up for the final vote, and viewers were going to make the decision, he pled only for them to vote for his son Mike. Not a word pleading for himself. As much as I didn't care a whole bunch for his tactics throughout the season, I respected him for that. 

Had I been in Helen's place, and be at the ranch with my daughter, there is no WAY I would ask her to go home. Never. And while Helen kept losing and losing, her daughter didn't, and she still has far to go before she is where she should be. Perhaps Helen will earn back my respect when she turns her attention towards her daughter and returns the favor.

And this all leads me back to writing (although by now you are probably wondering how). A character in the world I've created could be mostly likable, yet one particular trait or action of hers could turn readers against her. It could be infidelity, or even something as simple as a caustic comment at the wrong time. But that little trait or event could haunt my readers, making the end of the novel or play something less than satisfying. 

Readers can be forgiving. Scrooge was a highly unlikable character, yet his reform is so goofy it actually works, and has for well over 100 years. But Scrooge had to face his own shortcomings. Helen didn't face hers. It's the same reason I detest romances where the guy rapes a woman, and then they fall in love. Nope, doesn't work for me. I need to see more than regret with something like this... the bigger the sin, the more extreme the repentance. 

Think about Oedipus Rex. When he discovered he'd slept (for years) with his own mom, and fathered four kids with her, he didn't say, "Oh, well," and remain king. And his sins weren't even intentional. Yet he lost his mind from remorse, and poked his own eyes out so he wouldn't have to look on what he'd done anymore. THAT is what I'm talking about (and it's another reason I love myth... people do take responsibility for what they've done, often in big ways).

Perhaps I'm unforgiving. But if I am, I'm sure some of my readers will be, too. What do you think?

The Importance of Failure

This kind of comes in response to Rocket Scientist's blog about vulnerabilities in characters. She discusses how characters without flaws are not as compelling--or as interesting--as characters who show weakness of some kind. 

It's also important for characters to lose. I'll use my husband as an example. He becomes a fan of various teams at different times, but, except for his third-generation love of the USC Trojans, he's pretty fair-minded. If a team wins too much, he gets to the point where he wants someone else to win. I can't tell you how many times he's switched sides, rooting for unknowns up against the established power. For example, he loved Tiger Woods when he first came on the scene, but now he tends to watch golf more intently when someone else is really doing well and is likely to beat Tiger Woods. (And, yes, my husband watches golf, and I appreciate your sympathy.)

But my husband is not alone in his desire to see people defeated sometimes. A work of fiction (whether book or film) becomes far less interesting if everyone we like wins every time. That is part of the appeal of the film Star Trek II. Spock died. It was horrible, it was beautiful, it was poignant, it was brilliant. But the impact was lessened when the third movie came out and he came back to life (it also wasn't a great movie). 

Sometimes people we love die. Sometimes great characters don't win, or at least don't win the first time around (or the second, or the third), but this failure makes the final victory all the more meaningful because it was hard-won. 

So, as Rocket Scientist suggests, make your characters vulnerable. And as I suggest, make them fail sometimes. Your readers will love them all the more for such weaknesses.