I Can't Understand

Every one of us is a storyteller.

Each day we set out to tell our tales. And we like to believe that in at least our own stories, we are the heroes. I believe that this is a very achievable goal. Issues crop up when we start to think of our stories in relation to all the other stories unfolding around us.

The truth is, no matter how awesome we are in our own stories, we are very unlikely to be the hero of someone else's. That doesn't mean that we're the villains. It's just that at best we're supporting characters, while most likely we're really extras. Background to that person's story.

But we want to be heroes.

So, when we hear about the obstacles cropping up in other people's stories, we rush to defend ourselves.

We did not cause that obstacle. Because we are heroes. And we understand everyone's obstacles, whether or not they're ours. Because we are heroes. And it is important that other people know that the obstacle in question was not created by us. Because...well, you know. The whole hero thing.

Except that isn't really important. And we have no real way of understanding the obstacles of someone else's story.

But we act like we do, because heaven forbid we look ignorant.

When I was a kid, my little sister would ask me all sorts of questions. More than half the time, I wouldn't know the answer, but there was no way I was telling her that. So, instead, I made crap up. Because I was her big sister and it was my job to have answers for her.

I went through two years of pre-school, K-12, four years of undergrad and a two year Masters program and never managed to shake the fear of a teacher asking me a question to which I didn't know the answer. Most of the time, I didn't even care whether or not I'd retained the knowledge I was supposed to. I just didn't want everyone else knowing if I hadn't.

Because no one wants to look ignorant.

But even for the smartest, most well-educated people, it's impossible not to suffer some degree of ignorance when it comes to other people's stories.

I identify as a lot of things. Here are a few:

Female. White. Heterosexual. Catholic. Daughter. Little sister. Big sister. Aunt. Godchild. Godmother. Friend. Niece. Cousin. Rape Survivor. Writer. Reader. Storyteller. Development and Communications Director. Former Federal Employee. New Yorker. American University Alumni. Star Wars Fan. Obsessive Quoter of Movies. Nerd. Scrapbooker. Greeting Card Giver. Owner of Embarrassing Number of Adult Onesie Pajamas. Christmas Nut. Superhero Wannabe. Believer That Life is a Musical If You Make It a Musical. Baker. Pie Lover. Turtle Mom. Nutella Consumer.

Now, maybe one of you is reading this and thinking, "Yes! I am every one of those things." To you, I say, "Hello, soul sister." More likely, you're looking at this and thinking, "Yeah, I can relate to some of that."

That's really the best we can hope for. That we'll find things in other people to relate to. Because there is not a person in this world who can fully understand my story, as they haven't lived it. And there is not a person in this world whose story I can fully understand, no matter how close I might be to them.  Because I haven't lived it.

There's danger in claiming that we understand things we haven't experienced. It puts us in a position to dismiss or cut off a conversation that wasn't really ours to control.

When someone complains about the obstacles in their life and we use it as an opportunity to jump in and explain how we are not part of the problem - because we're heroes and we understand - we're hijacking someone else's story to make it our own. Which might not necessarily make us villains, but certainly doesn't make us the solution of obstacles.

Sometimes the best thing we can do is take a break from heroics. To settle in momentarily to being someone else's extra. To say, "I can't understand your story, not because I don't want to, but because it will never be my experience. I don't know whether or not I'll sympathize with it. I don't know whether or not we'll agree with each other when it's over. But I'd like to listen to it anyway." And then to do just that. To let that story take center stage, even when you want to distance yourself from the obstacles. Even when you want to say, "That might be true, but not about me." To play a supporting role.

Because, every one of us is a storyteller. And every one of us deserves at least one commercial free telling of their story.

Openers

When it comes to writing books, every part is the most important. You can’t focus too much on any one area, but instead need to make it a strong whole. However, in terms of reading a book, a good argument can be made that the opening sentence may be the most important.

Why? Because that’s what has to reel the readers in. Once the book has hooked them, it’s certainly
important that it be good. But if they aren’t hooked from the start, it doesn’t matter how phenomenal the rest of the story is because they probably won’t be reading it.

A few months ago, I pulled some books at random from my shelves and looked at only the first sentences. It was interesting to see what made me want to read more and what fell a little flat for me.

So, let’s look at few more. The main question is, if I knew nothing about these books but their first sentences, would I opt to read on?

Incarnate (Jodi Meadows)

“I wasn’t reborn.”

What in the world does that mean? It’s got to be important if it’s the first thing she’s saying, right? What does it mean?!? I would read on.

Man in the Empty Suit  (Sean Ferrell)

“It is unfortunate for me that I am, by most any objective measure, a genius.”

I absolutely want to read more. Most of the time when you read “genius” it’s being discussed in a positive light. So, why is it so unfortunate for this man?

False Memory  (Dan Krokos)

“In the food court I find a mall cop leaning against a pillar.”

In just thirteen words I have a solid picture of where this scene is taking place. More than that though, I have a question I want answered. Why was the narrator looking for a cop? Reading on.

Enchanted, Inc. (Shanna Swendson)

“I’d always heard that New York City was weird, but I had no idea just how weird until I got here.”

This one isn’t as attention grabbing as some others, though it does have me asking what kind of weirdness she’s talking about. So, I would probably read at least another couple paragraphs from here. That being said, if the weirdness wasn’t unique or truly strange, the story might lose me.

Animorphs: The Invasion (K. A. Applegate)

“My name is Jake.”

Animorphs was one of my absolute favorite series growing up. However, if I knew nothing about the story but the first line, this probably wouldn’t be pulling me in.

How about you? Would you read these books based solely on their first sentences?

Fate or Free Will?

I’ve never been able to reconcile fate and free will. In my mind, it’s got to be one or the other. If we have the ability to make choices that impact our future, then I don’t see how there can be any one destiny. And if there is one inevitable end to our journey, then the choices we make don’t really matter in terms of changing our lives. They might color our days but in the long run, we’re just along for the ride.

So, which do you believe in?

I, personally, am a big believer in choice. I don’t think that we’re on one track for our whole lives, unable to change the direction we’re rocketing into. I think we make our own decisions and, in doing so, determine where we’re going to end up. And this final place can change daily, even hourly, with every choice we make. This is my philosophy for real life, but it’s also something I pay a lot of attention to in stories.

Characters need free will. They need the agency to effect change in the world they inhabit. Otherwise, the story loses interest fast.

If a character is told that her destiny is one specific thing, no ifs, ands or buts, and she just says, “Okay,” and goes about doing it, there’s no story. At most there are a few sentences.

She was told it was her fate to be killed by a rabid ostrich. She was surprised – because she’d always gotten along so well with ostriches – but accepted the inevitable. When the animal charged all those years later, the last sound she was heard to make was a resigned sigh.

Too bad for her, but nothing all that compelling there.

Soul mates destined to find each other regardless of the years or lifetimes that pass? There’s a romance to this, absolutely. There’s something comforting about the thought of such a guarantee. But having read or watched a number of stories in this vein, I’m always left with the question of whether or not these people truly want to be together or if their love is the result of someone else’s doing. I’m much more interested in the stories of two people who choose to be together even though they have no guarantee of a happy ending. There’s a courage there that’s much more interesting than the complacency of soul mates.

I like stories with prophesies or predictions of the future. But I like them because I enjoy watching the characters find a way to change their paths. I like seeing them prove fate wrong.

I like tales where the character who has been heralded as a savior of the people shows up. And wants no part of it. Or is happy to lead the people if necessary, but does so in an unexpected way, not just by falling in line.

I like seeing characters make choices. And I like seeing that those choices have definite consequences, both good and bad. They’re not just words thrown out into a never changing void.

So, I vote for free will.

But what about you? Where do you fall on the Fate/Free Will spectrum?

Comically Serious

My mom and I were talking yesterday about what makes certain television shows so funny. Why some shows have us laughing until it’s a little bit hard to breathe, while others don’t inspire so much as quirk of the lips.

There have been a lot of new sitcoms in the past few years. Some that I really enjoyed didn’t last past a handful of episodes (I’m looking at you, Bent). And there have been others that seem to have built up solid followings, which I just can’t get into.

What is funny is going to vary from person to person, I’m sure. But for me, the thing that makes me roll is when a character says something very funny, but does not say it as a joke. For the character, in that moment, this is a serious topic and it makes complete sense that this conversation is being had. Even if it’s completely and utterly ridiculous.

I can’t stop laughing when Troy says, “I wouldn’t even think about it.” Because he means it. And rather than laughing about the absurdity of such a notion, Abed responds with the same level of seriousness.

The fact that they do it all in Batman voices is just the icing on the cake.

I’ve seen this scene from New Girl a few times. It continues to kill me when Jess says she doesn’t use toilet paper. She’s stuck in moment of self awkwardness and she’s not trying to break the tension with a joke, that’s just the only thing she can think to say. Despite it being ridiculous and not at all true.

And there’s a reason I start laughing the moment Phil Dunphy comes on screen.

He’s just so damn sincere. He’s corny and does ridiculous things that will, of course, embarrass his family. But, he’s just So. Damn. Sincere. How do you not love him?

So, what really gets me a-gigglin’ are characters who take their lives and their thoughts seriously. A series of one-liners said with a smirk just isn’t as compelling to me as two people having a conversation that they are both totally invested in. Even if that conversation is just about clothes.

How about you? What makes comedy funny?

I Feel Like I've Read This Somewhere Before....

I’ve gotten the chance to do a lot of reading lately (a big YAY to that). While most of the stories have been wonderful, a couple have fallen into one of my biggest literary pet peeves.

Too much repetition.

Conflict is the heart and soul of any story. There’s something that must be dealt with for the protagonist to make it to that possibly happily ever after. And whatever that something is? The protagonist wants nothing to do with it.

And that’s great. Particularly when there’s a compelling reason for the protagonist to want to maintain distance – something more interesting that “Cause I don’t wanna!” But no matter how fantastic and understandable a reason the protagonist is given, I still don’t want to read it two hundred times in two hundred and fifty pages.

Say, for instance, there’s a girl whose hardworking father is employed by county’s Public Works Sewer Utility Division. Well, come “Take Your Daughter” to work day, she dons her goulashes and descends into the caverns below. And who does she meet, but a wounded ammit, begging for help to get back home. Despite being a peaceable sort, the girl’s first instinct is to chop the ammit’s head right off. After all, her mother’s heart had been consumed by an ammit, damning her spirit to an eternity of restlessness. Now, she haunts her daughter while increasingly going more insane.

Awesome. I’m totally on board with the reason this girl wants nothing to kill this creature. However, a good story is going to have a reason why she ends up helping the ammit. Such as saving her mother’s soul. And so the story continues.

Now, I’d want to see that the girl was conflicted. That she didn’t trust the damn ammit. That she has to hide her journey from her father who will, without hesitation, chop the thing in two. And all of this will stem from what happened to her mother.

But what happened to her mother is not the story.

This is about what’s happening to this girl.

So, the mother’s plight can color things, but sweet heavens, I do not want to see restated in every chapter. Mom’s had a rough time. Daughter’s a little touchy because of it.

I get it.

When I see back story like this showing up with an absurd frequency it makes me wonder if the person telling the story doesn’t seriously underestimate the intelligence of the person reading. Don’t get me wrong, I like these windows into the character’s motivations, but at least spread it out a little. My memory can take it.

First tell us that the mom had her heart eaten.

Later, maybe a bit on her going insane.

Down the line, the reason that the ammit judged her heart to be impure in the first place.

If it’s going to be a constant throughout the story, tell me a little bit at a time. Don’t tell me all at once in the first chapter and then rehash it again and again and again.

So, that’s one of my pet peeves when it comes to stories. Let’s hear one of yours.

Sympathetically Awkward

Roomie sent me this link this morning. Because she gets into work before I do and like to leave me “Happy Friday” messages.

Because she’s awesome.

Anyway, it got me thinking about things in books that make me feel the same level of awkwardness as the situations mentioned in that article.

It’s amazing really.

I’m at home. Generally alone, behind the closed door of my room, completely the opposite of the center of attention. And yet, as I read certain scenes, I find myself burrowing under my pillows to get away from the sense of severe discomfort.

I’m nervous laughing. Trying to look away, but lacking the ability.

I’ve just showed up to take a test and realized I didn’t study. Asked to take center stage, while knowing I don’t know any of the lines. Stood up to give a presentation only to find that I am completely without clothing.

Except all I’m really doing is holding a book.

The biggest culprit for evoking these feelings of overpowering awkward-osity? The public declaration of love scene.

I’ve read a lot of romance novels and at least fifty percent of them have such a grand gesture. Some setting chock full of people (and sometimes a microphone) where the hero or heroine can lay themselves bare before all within earshot. And everyone acts like it’s just so romantic.

And, yes, in certain stories it really works. But you know how some people are sympathetic criers? I feel sympathetically awkward. So, rarely do I read such a scene, no matter how well written, where I don’t have a short Robert DuVall in Newsies moment.

“Go home! Go home to your mothers and your fathers! Go home!”

*Buries face in pillow. Peeks up, sees awkwardness still waiting. Laughs uncontrollably. Goes back to reading*

Also making my list of Things That Make Me Feel Like I’m the One Being Stared At?

-          Any time a character has to take part in a performance he or she has not prepared for.

-          Any time a character is trying to act “cool.”

So, what makes you sympathetically awkward?

*Note: If you’ve found yourself in real-life awkward situations lately, I would suggest using this survival guide.

Sandcastles in the Sand....and on the Page

I got some more writing done this weekend (Woo!) and I realized that my writing style has a lot of similarities to the building of sandcastles.

If you were like me as a kid, you spent considerable time constructing your sandcastle. All morning, sometimes. Painstaking attention would be paid to every detail. The height of the turrents. The number of windows. The placement of the drawbridge. And, of course, the depth of the moat. Not to mention the creatures who would be tapped to infest this particular watery defense. Alligators were always a favorite. But what about piranhas? Or sea serpents?

A lot of thought had to go into this.

The people of this kingdom were happy. They felt secure inside those walls, even if someone of them knew that dark dangers lurked just outside.

Life was good.

I would put the finishing touch on the last wall and feel an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

Followed almost immediately by an all encompassing need to destroy.

So, I would trade rolls, happily shifting from creator to destroyer. I was the evil giant, the sorcerer’s army, the witch’s cyclone. No matter what evil form I took, there was one thing that was for sure: that castle didn’t stand a chance.

But seeing as I’ve never been able to shake my belief that good wins out in the end, I would never completely destroy my creation. Maybe I would leave one crumbling tower, or a rickety drawbridge. Maybe the castle was taken down, but the moat was left untouched, allowing the truly courageous to brave the beasts it held in an attempt to get away from the falling bricks and mortar.

Let’s face it. I was no Dread Pirate Roberts. There were always some survivors.

And they always took me done in a stunning display of heroics. Needless to say, my ocean side death scenes were nothing short of inspired. More than once I think I threw in the Wicked Witch’s “What a world! What a world!”

The people were once again victorious, but rather than bask in that triumph, they immediately started to rebuild. Because that’s the way things worked. They got knocked down. You dealt with the knocker-downer. And then you worked to put them back up.

Just this weekend, I realized that I write the same way. The characters are never as safe and secure behind their walls as my castle people were, but they’re doing all right. And I work hard to build their world up, providing them with the breaks needed to make their lives better. But just when they think they’ve got it all figured out, I trample in there like the unruly giant of my youth. I start crushing everything I can find and those poor souls scramble to take me down.

Now, I haven’t gotten to the end of this story yet, so I can’t say anything about their success or failure for sure.

But, in keeping with tradition, my money’s on them.

And for all you folks not particularly interested in writing or the construction/destruction of sandcastles, I offer you this, in the hope that it will make today’s blog visit worthwhile:

Most Important Meal of the Day

My ability to suspend my disbelief is a fairly well-honed skill at this point in my life. I like fantastical stories. I want to believe in fantastical stories. So I do.

It’s that simple.

Most of the time.

There are however the rare things that I have trouble getting behind. This weekend I read Lisa Kleypas’ Dream Lake. A really lovely book. But for a stretch in the middle there’s a discussion of the hero going to get breakfast every morning at the inn where the heroine works. And all I could think was, Who has time to go out for breakfast every morning? Forget that, who has time for breakfast at all?

This is especially common in small town stories involving diners. There’s always the regular cast of characters showing up for their morning repast before heading off to their respective workplaces. In Gilmore Girls, Lorelai and Rory managed to get up, out of the house, walk to Luke’s Diner, order breakfast, eat breakfast, drink at least three cups of coffee a piece, and make it to work and school on time. Neither of which ever appeared to be within walking distance of the diner, particularly Rory’s school.

It was nothing short of amazing.

I mean, the characters in Friends did it too, but none of them ever seemed to have normal hours they were expected at their jobs. There’s no way anyone with a true 9-5 could ever spend that much time in a coffee shop.

But, the Gilmores did have places that they needed to get to on time. And they made it. After breakfasting.

I just don’t understand it.

It might just be me, though. I’m a ten minutes from my feet hitting the floor until I walk out the door kind of lady. Not that I don’t enjoy having more time to pull myself together, sleep just has a higher preference. Unless it’s a weekend or a holiday full breakfasts are never in the cards. My specialty is a granola bar once I’m at my desk.

But, before I rank this fictional eating up there with sticking your bare hand in a mysterious puddle of goo, I wanted to find out if this whole eating breakfast before work thing was something that a lot of people do out here in the real world.

So, am I the oddball here, or is this leaving enough time for a morning meal thing the stuff of legends?

Reeling Me In

The play may be the thing wherein Hamlet caught the conscience of the King, but the first sentence is the thing that catches the attention of all of us peasants.

I read a lot about writing and frequently the topic of grabbing the audience comes up. A lot of people say that you have to pull in the reader with your very first line.

So, I decided to pull some books at random from my shelves and see what they had to offer.

The Kitchen Daughter (Jael McHenry)

“Bad things come in threes.”

Not only do I immediately know that things aren’t all bright and shiny in the world I’m about to enter, I know that there are going to be three specific issues. So, now even if the very next sentence tells me what the first bad thing is, I have to stick around to find out about the other two.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time (Mark Haddon)

“It was 7 minutes after midnight.”

At first I wasn’t really sure what struck me about this line, even though I did want to read more. Then I realized that it was the specificity of the time. Saying it was just after midnight isn’t particularly enthralling, but now I want to know why it’s important that it’s exactly seven minutes past. And who it’s important to.

The Picture of Dorian Gray (Oscar Wilde)

“The studio was filled with the rich odor of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amid the trees of the garden there came through the open door the heavy scent of lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.”

This is a beautiful sentence, but probably my least favorite of the first sentences here, which surprised me, because I’ve always really enjoyed this book. Despite giving me a vivid mental picture of the room, it doesn’t give me an immediate reason to care about why I’m there.

Halfway to the Grave (Jeaniene Frost)

“I stiffened at the red and blue lights flashing behind me, because there was no way I could explain what was in the back of my truck.”

What the hell’s in the back of her truck? Is the cop going to find it? What’s going to happen next?!?!

At Last (Jill Shalvis)

“I’m not lost,” Amy Michaels said to the squirrel watching her for his perch on a tree branch.

As someone who has a tendency to talk to animals, myself, and inanimate objects with regularity, I immediately feel for this character. I want her to get found. Much like I wanted myself to get found when I was insisting to my car the other day that I knew where I was going. (Totally didn’t.)

Bloodline (James Rollins)

“They once called her a witch and a whore.”

Them there’s fightin’ words. What exactly did she do to earn such unfortunate nicknames? And more importantly, why don’t they call her those things anymore?

The Indian in the Cupboard (Lynne Reid Banks)

“It was not that Omri didn’t appreciate Patrick’s birthday present to him.”

What did Patrick give him and why does it suck so much? Because, come on, if you use that many negatives in a sentence, you’re not really thrilled with the gift. Now, tell me why.

From my very teensy sampling, I can see why first lines are so important. I feel fairly confident that if I had never read any of these books before and was asked to decide on whether I would by reading only the first sentence, all but Mr. Wilde’s would be on my bedside table.

It seems that the most important thing to me is that I be left with a question after reading the first line. Something or someone I want to know more about. Once I have that, I’m hooked.

What do you look for in a first sentence?

Being Invincible Together

I was in the grocery store this weekend and saw a woman pushing two little boys in a shopping cart. One sat in the actual seat section, the other in the main part of the cart. As they rolled by me, the woman asked, “How are you guys doing?”

As if this was their cue, both boys raised their fists victoriously into the air. The little boy in the front of the cart took it a step further, shouting one simple sentence:

“We are invincible!”

He then high-fived the boy in the back of the cart.

The woman paused for a second, then started laughing, said “That’s good,” and kept on moving down the isle.

Now, I don’t know if the power of riding in a grocery chariot of their very own was going to their head. Maybe there had been a number of things in their Sunday that bolstered their feelings of being unbeatable, leading to that one perfect moment. Or perhaps, it was the simple fact that they were together.

I am certainly a fan of the stalwart heroes and heroines who must travel their path alone, but I have to admit I’m a real sucker for stories of teams. They don’t have to start off as teams, but by the end the disparate group of individuals finds a way to come together and is stronger for it.

I mentioned last week my love of the Star Wars X-Wing series. This is why. As individuals, each of the characters in these stories are interesting and flawed. They could probably each carry their own story. And that’s great, but as a group they're unbeatable.

There are a lot of examples of this. The crew of Serenity, the Avengers, Five-0, the Animorphs, the Planeteers (I mean, what are all the natural elements without a little heart, am I right?), this list just goes on and on. All filled with awesome individuals, all better when viewed as a team.

Stories where an individual saves the day on their own are great and awe-inspiring, but they’re not always relatable. (I know, “relatable” sounds a little weird when most of my examples have to do with interspecies air forces and extraterrestrial emergencies, but, bear with me.) Odds are very few of us get through the bad times of our lives all alone. I know I haven’t. And this leaves me partial to the stories that show the benefits of interdependence – that illustrate that asking for help doesn’t make someone less of a hero, it just makes him or her less alone in their heroics.

So, wishing you an awesome Tuesday where you feel exactly like those two little boys – surrounded by all the people who make you invincible.

The Real Magic

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who was truly enamored of fairy tales, but kept finding little things about the stories she was reading or watching that nagged at her.

Why didn’t Cinderella’s glass slipper change into a ratty old shoe at midnight when everything else did? Then, at least, it would have narrowed down the pool of subjects the prince had to go door-to-door to.

Why were the fathers all so crappy? The love of a father for his child was often mentioned, but where were the actions to back up these claims? The fathers of Cinderella and Snow White apparently loved their daughters whole heartedly, but were too dumb not to notice that they were marrying horrific, abusive women. Hansel and Gretel’s dad was said to love them tons too, but ditched them in the forest twice. And only took them back at the end because his wife died. Father of the year, right there. The miller basically sold his daughter to the King under false pretense, leading to that whole Rumplestiltskin fiasco. But at least he never really pretended to be overly enamored with his offspring. So….that’s something, maybe?

Why were all the stepmothers evil? I knew a number of stepmothers, all of them were lovely people. So, it never made sense to me that every single stepmother in fairy tales wanted nothing more than to kill off all the children. I believed in all sorts of magic and mayhem, but this strange stereotype was too unrealistic for my young mind.

The questions went on and on. Probably because I kept going back to all the stories over and over. I loved them and they drove me crazy.

I’m not the only one who has cast a skeptical eye toward these classic tales, of course. There are tons of different takes out there. My father told me stories where Ariel stayed a mermaid. In high school, I was introduced to Into the Woods and Shrek, both of which, I was happy to see showed that happy endings aren’t always what we expect them to be. When I was in college, one particularly awesome roommate used to read stories to me from James Finn Garner’s Politically Correct Bedtime Stories. (Nothing speeds you off to sleep like Red Riding Hood’s stirring speech to the sexist, speciesist woodsman.) And now, I get to regularly enjoy blogs and tumblrs like “Introvert Fairy Tales” and “fairy tales for twentysomethings.”

All of these things have been on my mind a lot lately, as I work on a new story. And I think I’ve figured out what the real magic of fairy tales is – They can be whatever we want them to be.

So what are your favorites, be they traditional or reimaginings?

Show or Tell?

There was a whole mess of time spent in the car this past weekend. So, naturally, conversation eventually focused in on the only question it could: Who is the scariest cartoon Disney villain?

There was a lot of thought given to this, but the general consensus in the vehicle was that The Lion King’s Scar held the title. The reason for this was ultimately very simple – we watched Scar do his evil.

A lot of the other villains were known to be evil. We knew that Cruella de Vil liked to skin puppies, but we never actually saw her skin any puppies. Maleficent called herself the “Mistress of All Evil,” but I’m going to have to take her word on it because the worst we ever saw her do was turn into a big dragon and leave out a spindle that makes one particular girl super sleepy.

Jafar’s fairly sleazy and has the whole mind control thing going. Plus we know he has the authority to put people to death. So, there’s some power there. But all that really plays out on screen is that he likes to manipulate people and really wants the lamp. Gaston’s an entitled goofball who never once indicates that he has the brains to beat Belle or sufficient brawn to take on the Beast.

All of these villains have grandiose evil plans that, if successful, could have made them contenders for being truly scary. But therein lays the rub. They’re not successful. They’re thwarted time and again.

Then there’s Scar. We don’t just hear rumors that he’s not really a nice guy. No, we watch him kill his own brother – a character who we first spend time with and grow to love (because seriously, who doesn’t love Mufasa?). But even that’s not enough. Scar then convinces a little boy that he is responsible for the death, runs the kingdom straight into the ground with his hyena stormtroopers, hits on his dead brother’s wife, and then tries to fight the adult Simba to the death. Sure, he loses in the end, but we get to see him have a bunch of victories first. Each evil moment was played out on our television screens.

The only other Disney contender who really comes close to Scar in my mind, in terms of evil playing out on screen, is The Hunchback of Notre Dame’s Judge Claude Frollo. If you haven’t already, check him out. Dude’s terrifying.

Why are these characters so much scarier than the Maleficents and Jafars? Because we’re not told they’re the villains, we’re shown. And those are the scenes that stick with us after the credits roll.

Fun and Games...And Maybe a Little Fall Out

I used to absolutely love playing board games as a kid. Still do today, but back then I saw them as akin to dancing on rainbows. Two classics stand out in my mind as having the biggest impact on the way I’ve come to view stories.

Candy Land was a consistent crowd pleaser. Not just because it was a fun game, but because I wanted nothing more than to live in a place where all food was candy. It was the dream.

I wanted to be Queen Frostine. And I totally wanted to pick a fight with Lord Licorice. What was he doing letting all those bats fly around the candy? That’s just unsanitary.

Despite my love of this setting, however, somewhere along the line I realized that there wasn’t much of a story involved. Sure, the epic journey of two kids trying to make their way to the Candy Castle had promise. But the worst that happened to them is that they get stuck in some gum drops for awhile. And this isn’t a consequence of any action they took, just bad luck.

Chutes and Ladders, on the other hand, didn’t have the same grandiose premise. I didn’t get to imagine myself hanging around with Plumpy and Princess Lolly. What the game did have, however, were actions and consequences, both good and bad. It wasn't just a journey for the sake of journeying. Each player could be impacted by both good and bad choices throughout the game. One minute you were mowing lawns and earning enough money to go to the circus, the next you chose to pull a cat’s tail and got scratched in the face.

Every individual is capable of making both good and bad decisions. And for a story to be interesting, every character should make both good and bad decisions, and then live with the consequences.

Now I look to read and write stories that have aspects of both of these games. I love fantasy settings where magic is not only possible, but expected. And I want characters in those worlds to be active. I’ve mentioned before how annoying I personally find chronically indecisive characters. I want to see someone choose to make a deal they know is bad news with Gloppy and then see them zoom down that slide to get stuck in Molasses Swamp. And then I want to see the choices they make to get themselves out of it.

As a side note, if anyone decides to create a real life Candy Land/Chutes and Ladders mash up, please contact me when you need human testers.

Questions and Consequences

My dad has trouble with his back. And has for as long as I can remember.

As a child, I was not particularly helpful in this area. He frequently carried me in from the car (sometimes because I was sleeping, other times because I was lazy and pretending to sleep). I jumped on him. Sat on his feet while he walked. Asked him repeatedly to hold me upside down. And my sister joined me for each of these fun-time activities.

He used to lie down on the living room floor, with his arms stretched perpendicular to his body. Looking back on this, he was probably trying to stretch out his abused back. At the time though, my sister and I just figured this was a new game. And because he loved us, he made it one.

In what I’m sure was an effort to prevent us from jumping on him, he would have each of us lay on either side of him, our heads on his upper arms. Then he would ask us questions. If we got the answer right, his arms would stay as they were. But if we got it wrong, they would slowly fold in. The movement of his lower arm was incremental, and would go back down if we answered a subsequent question correctly. But if you had too many wrong answers? Head was ‘crushed.’*

It was a strange trivia game and my sister and I loved it. Every time we saw him on the floor we came running in for our questions.

This isn’t to say that the game didn’t have its issues. I still maintain that my father was ageist in his questions. The little sis would be asked things like “Is it raining today?” or “What color are your favorite shoes?” Meanwhile, I’d be getting things like “Who was the second vice president under Thomas Jefferson?” and “What is the insignia for a Second Lieutenant in the Army?”** My father claims that the discrepancy was not this vast, but that’s the way I remember it.

Still, despite question inequality, I have realized that the game has informed the way I write stories. It taught me that asking questions is infinitely more interesting if there are consequences to answering them. Seeking answers just for the sake of knowledge is all well and good, but for a story to be interesting, a character should have more than edification at stake.

Basically, it’s The Last Crusade method. Drink out of the right cup, eternal life. Pick the wrong one, your flesh melts off your bones as your skeleton rattles to the floor.

Now, the consequences to every question shouldn’t be this dire. But for everything that the main character gets wrong, the walls should close in a little more and when he gets something right, even if it’s small, there should be an inch more breathing room. Even with this, though, in the back of both the character’s and reader’s minds should be the knowledge that another question is coming and a wrong answer can lose him what little ground he's gained. Depending on your story, this loss could mean death, or it could just mean that two giggling girls get their heads ‘crushed’ by their father. Either way, you've shown that questions have consequences and given the reader a reason to be concerned about the answer.

*No heads were actually crushed in the making of this game.

**The answers are George Clinton and one gold bar, respectively.

Tying Up Loose Ends

A friend was complaining to me this weekend about a book she’d just finished. It was a thriller, where a female CIA operative was chasing members of a drug cartel. There are apparently a number of points in the story where it seems like she’s going to catch up with them, but each time something goes sideways.

All of this sounds like what you’d expect from a thriller, but my friend who generally enjoys such stories was very angry about this particular one. Why? The ending. According to her, there wasn’t one. After being thwarted yet again, the CIA operative finally gets a tip from a source regarding where these bad guys are holed up.

And that’s it.

The story ends with the protagonist going off to follow this latest lead.

My friend was not pleased. Particularly since the night before she’d watched a recently released movie that had a similar lack of closure. It was a big weekend of ending-lackings.

I’ve heard arguments that books and movies and what not that have these sorts of non-endings are more realistic. Situations in life rarely have the nice wrap-up that most stories give them. This may be true, but I, personally, am not someone who reads books to confirm what I already know to be true about real life. If they do, that’s great. But I’m generally looking for a little more poetic justice.

This isn’t to say that all the loose ends of the story have to be tied up neatly at its close. That depends entirely on the world of the book. When I read a romance novel, I’m going to be annoyed if the hero and heroine don’t find a way to make it work before I reach the last page. But this doesn’t mean that all the other life issues that have presented themselves need to have total closure. If the guy and gal are together at the end, I’m fine working on the assumption that they’ll face all these other problems together.

If I’m reading a mystery starring some hardboiled detective, whose life is in total disarray because of choosing this line of work, I don’t need for her life to be all unicorns and rainbows at the end of the book. But I will not be pleased if I don’t get to see her solve the mystery that was set before her.

And if the hero has to die at the end of a thriller for the sake of the greater good, so be it. Will I cry? Yeah, probably. But, I still tear up at the end of Newsies, so that may not mean much. (Of course, if you don’t get emotional when all those young urban workers come to support that group of idealistic newsboys, I dub you heartless.) But, back to the point, I’m not going to be thrilled if the protagonist gets killed off at the end of the book, but if they first accomplish an important goal, I can tolerate it.

As a fan of Lost, I knew going into the finale that there was simply no way that all the questions I’d pondered over the course of the series would be answered. All I was looking for was a sense that I had seen the story through and had an understanding of where these characters I’d been so invested in ended up. And, that’s what I got. Do I still have a bunch of questions? Absolutely. If I think about it too much, my brain starts to feel a little woozy.

Endings don’t have to be neat or perfect, but I do want there to be an actual close to the story. I don’t want to feel as though I entered this world, started walking around getting to know people, and then got pulled out by the scruff of my neck before I could say goodbye.

I'd even settle for the Eenie Meenie Miney Moe method...

Do you know the song “Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind,” by The Lovin’ Spoonful? It starts off with:

Did you ever have to make up your mind?

Pick up on one, and leave the other behind

It’s not often easy, and not often kind

Did you every have to make up your mind?

I can remember this because I used to sing it to my sister. You see, it got on her nerves and being a kid, this, of course, made it hysterical to me. But, the song came to mind today when I was reading a post on problematic protagonists. The list provided here was excellent, but I would add one more to the catalog: “Unable to Make a Decision.”

Have you ever read a book and felt like things just keep happening to the main character? It’s not that the protagonist is making them happen. Nope, just along for the ride.

In times of action, this is the person who fights the good fight only when forced to. Strong beliefs are sometimes professed, but rarely do they lead to an actual choice. No, this character waits around until the surrounding circumstances whittle down the options, then participates with an sense of resignation.

When more than one alternative presents itself (employment opportunities, love triangles, gelato flavors, etc.) the protagonist is truly stymied, bouncing back and forth between options, never happy, always tortured by the difficulty of the choice. But the excuse is always that the options are just all so flip-flopping fantastic, never that this individual’s way of deciding is to passive-aggressively force someone else to, so that no responsibility ever need be taken. So our hero just waits around allowing things to work themselves out. I mean, they’re bound to run out of some of that gelato eventually, right? No effort needed.

These characters drive me straight on up the wall. They prompt me to throw books, which then leads to hours upon hours of me apologizing to the book, ‘cause it’s not its fault that these characters are acting like dinkuses.

I want a character who makes a choice. Who sees that something is coming down the road and preemptively says, “I’m not going to wait for that to get here, I’m going to [insert decision here].” Now, I don’t care if I agree with the choice. I could hate it. Maybe I think it’s the dumbest decision anyone has ever made heretofore on this planet. Who cares? The protagonist didn’t wait for an event to just happen to him. He took control of the action and I applaud that, regardless of how dumbass I may think the choice is. Because the character proved that he was not so scared of the fallout of the decision that he would avoid making it.

And that’s a character I can support. One who looks at a situation, takes control of his role in it, and is willing to deal with the consequences.

How about you? Any character types who make you want to run for the hills, screaming like a tiny baby monkey?

The great trifecta: A Pool, A Paddle Boat and A Library

So, it’s pretty hot today. The air conditioner in the office is a-pumping – to the point where I’m a little shivery in my long sleeve sweater. But even at eight this morning, walking outside was like getting punched in the throat by an angry heat goblin. It seems as though the first day of summer came and thought, No, no! This mild weather will not do! Let’s heat these suckers up.

The result: today.

This has me harkening back to the summer jobs of yesteryears, of which I’m going to share a few classics with you.

-          Swimming Instructor’s Assistant

o       This was my first real job ever. That lovely summer between freshman and sophomore year of high school. Ah, nostalgia. Now, seeing as how I’ve never really been a swimmer, in the traditional sense (I mean, I can keep myself from going under, but it looks less Olympic level and more like a demented frog seizure. But I don’t drown! So…win.), it was probably a good call on the pool’s part to only hire me on as an assistant. My services were generally called in when we had classes on the far ends of the age spectrum. I jumped in the pool, made sure I was nearby in case anyone was struggling. And in my free time, I sat on the side of the pool, chatting with the other assistants, completely oblivious to the fact that the rough concrete was slowly wearing away at the seat of my bathing suit, until it became so sheer that you could see right through it. Awkward. All in all, though, it was a pretty good job. Not overly strenuous. Got to hang out by a pool every day. Even when a kid had a not-so-originally-named “Code Brown,” or the even less subtle, “Someone just puked,” in the water and we had to clear everyone out of the pool to disinfect it, the days went by pretty smoothly. And I still remember what I did with that very first paycheck. My sister and I went with a friend to see Legally Blonde. Worth. Every. Penny.

-          Crew Member of Large Paddle Boat

o       One of my shortest forms of employment, yet also one from which I have the most stories. This paddle boat took people out for three hour tours around the bay (and yes, every single time I think of this all I hear in my head is the Gilligan theme song. Which then leads to the torturous question of why? WHY did those folks pack so many outfits if they were only going out for a three hour tour? But I can’t get sucked down that hole right now. So, stop it.). People would rent it for a vast variety of get-togethers: birthdays, graduations, class trips. One afternoon we had a very touching wake. Another day we hosted a Red Hat party with a Hawaiian theme. I have never heard so many jokes about getting “lei-d.” I cleaned, I polished, I changed water and oil. I was tapped for bathroom detail after we ferried around a group of kids who were particularly prone to motion sickness. I had a short stint of bartending and spent one afternoon as a caterer’s assistant. More than once, I hung off the side of the boat to lasso it to the pier when we came back in. The job may have only lasted a month, but somehow I don’t see myself ever forgetting it.

-          Counselor in Children’s Section at Local Library

o       By far my favorite summer job of all time. Not only did I get to decorate the section in an Ancient Egypt theme, but I got to do Story Times with the kids and work on craft projects related to the books we read. I spoke to parents about more book suggestions for the kids who were involved in the library’s summer reading program and those who hadn’t really shown an interest, but had parents who wanted to find something that would turn on that light for them. And I got to sit with the kids and listen to them talk about all the coolest things they had just finished reading. Let me tell you, nothing is quite as awesome as seeing kids completely jazzed up about a story. And finally, I got to karaoke “These Boots Are Made For Walkin’,” with one of the librarians at an afternoon event. In conclusion, it was a summer of magic. And a job that I still miss.  

How about anyone else? Do phenomenal past jobs spring to mind on this very hot of days?

Rewarding Bad Behavior

One of the exercises we were asked to do at the Backspace conference a few weeks ago was to think of a scene where your main character is dealing with someone they don’t like. What do they do? Then write down what they want to do, but don’t, because it’s impolite, or it’s against the law, or because people won’t like them anymore.

We were told to look at what we wrote. Did it make us smile? Did we enjoy having our character act out? Okay, so go back to the book and make that what happens instead.

Why? 

Because bad behavior is more interesting.

In all great stories, the main characters say and do things that people in real life rarely do. Not because people don’t want to, but because the consequences are too overwhelming. It’s what prompts people to cheer as their reading a book or watching a movie. The main character tells someone off in a manner that the audience has always wanted to and the words come out perfectly. The hero who’s willing to do whatever it takes saves the day, despite questionable choices made.

The consequences to these actions are just as important as the actions themselves. If a story doesn’t show the fallout of the main character acting against the norm, then what was done just becomes another norm in that reality. If there is no negative reaction, the initial choice is much less impressive. Because what really makes a character noteworthy is when they go against the grain, knowing full well that it will make their lives harder in the long run.

Now, in reality, we would probably all avoid relationships with the characters we so love. Why? Because that’s a whole lot of drama to invite into your life. Someone who flaunts rules and niceties that much? That’ll just be tiring.

Then there’s the fact that when you meet real people, you only see them in specific situations. You’ll never see all the interactions. So, if a coworker is a jerk in the office, you’ll probably never know that to someone else in a different part of their live, they’re a hero.

In good stories, however, you get to see the contrast. You’re privy to both the way a character alienates other people and the way they pull them close. The way their poor behavior yields both positive and negative consequences. Their strengths and insecurities, and how they handle both.

And, knowing all this, you like them better for the moments they live outside the lines.

Ruining lives with a smile and a wink

I’m a big fan of fictional villains. After all, the best measure of the protagonist’s heroism is how he or she holds up against the bad guys. So, the harder the villain makes the life of the hero, the more appreciation I have for them.

In my opinion, the scariest villains are not the dark, rage-filled ones who fly off the handle at the least provocation. No, the ones who stick with me are the bad guys who carry out their evil with a calm, jovial demeanor.

Roomie and I have watched the Buffy series many a time. The show is chock full of wonderfully flawed heroes, anti-heroes, and villains. But the Big Bad who creeped me out the most? The Mayor, Season 3. Why? Because he was the always so freaking cheerful. Never before have I gotten a chill from hearing someone say, “There’s nothing uncool about healthy teeth and bones.”

Heebie. Jeebies. 

And for me, Voldemort was not the worst villain of the Harry Potter series. Sure, he was rotten straight down to his fragmented core. But, I never hated him even a fraction as much as I loathed Delores Umbridge. In fact, I can’t think of any other character to which I’ve ever had such a viscerally negative reaction. Why? Because she wrought her evil with an air of moral superiority and a giggle. She justified her diabolical actions with the line that it was for everyone else’s good. And she took away the one true haven our hero had.

Basically, her character served its purpose beautifully.

While I’m pretty sure I will always feel a rising rage when I get to a page where she’s mentioned – or when Imelda Staunton (who is probably a delightful woman, in real life) does that high pitched throat clearing – I am as invested in how her story ends as I am in how Harry’s does. And that’s what I want.

I want an emotional response to these characters. I want to care about their journey. When I reach that epic conclusion, I not only want to be happy the hero won, I want to be happy the villain lost. Because that’s a story I’ll remember.

So, I’ll keep looking for the character who smiles, lauds the health benefits of a glass of milk, cuts out the heart of the person he’s talking to, and calmly laments how difficult it will be to get the small blood stain out of his favorite tie. The character who dresses demurely, speaks softly, lays a comforting hand on the shoulder of a sad friend, ruins the lives of innocents, and brews herself a lovely cup of tea.

And I will be awash with warm and fuzzies when they reach their Crappily Ever After.

How about everyone else? What makes a villain memorable to you?