The Evolution of Men

(Or How I Build My Characters)

Far more often than not (as we have discussed at length in several posts), my stories begin with characters or a scrap of dialog spoken by characters. Fly Away Home began as a conversation between a girl and her famous employer. Famous for what? I didn't yet know. Cottleston Pie started with someone named Simpian Grenadine and his sword, Ruby Elixir. The Windy Side of Care began with one line:

"I should be much obliged if someone would kill me."

And Anon, Sir, Anon began (of course!) with Mr. Orville Farnham. In fact, I believe that every story I have ever started began with a name, personality, or line. But a snapshot of a man does not a good character make. If a character is to be believable, he must be developed into the story and the story developed into him. I recall being put down by Dorothy Sayers when I read The Mind of The Maker:

Too much attention should not be paid to those writers who say (holding one the while with a fixed and hypnotic gaze: "I don't really invent the plot, you know--I just let the characters come into my mind and let them take charge of it." ... Writers who work in this way do not, as a matter of brutal fact, usually produce very good books. The lay public (most of them confirmed mystagogues) rather like to believe in this inspirational fancy; but as a rule the element of pure craftsmanship is more important than most of us are willing to admit." Pg. 67 Dorothy Sayers The Mind of The Maker

I have never been quite so extreme when touting my work as character-driven, but I have carried enough of that lay public mysticism into my work to take that rebuff and apply it personally. I am grateful that by the time I was reprimanded by Dorothy Sayers, I had already begun to take steps toward fixing this tendency so that my work would not be worthy of this second knock:

"... not a character in a situation, but a character looking for a situation to exploit."

Let us think, then, what makes a character a good character? We have heard all the lectures and blog posts and book-chapters about adding back-story and all that jazz, but for me those things can become just about as useful advice as brushing your teeth for two entire minutes twice a day. It's an excellent maxim, I'm certain, but does anyone actually do it? If you do, you can just leave this blog because I don't want to talk to you today. (You are also quite possibly the type of person whose lipstick somehow miraculously doesn't come off on their coffee mug and who would never be that guest who slams the father of the bride in the chest as he approaches to claim his daughter for the customary dance.) What I'm after, dear golden child, is some practical advice as to How To Evolve One's Snapshot: The Illustrated (by moi) Edition:

Step 1: Original Inspiration

This is, essentially, combining your original inspiration with a bit of a closer look at who you want this character to be. This is the brainstorming, fun stage before the cutting-room. Enjoy. Give your character weird tics, crazy family history, a cool hat, a certain accent, or a secret past. Or, you know, all of that. This stage is generally not my forte. I tend to go streamlined and build up from a simple person. Still, this stage is the build-it-up stage from wherever you start. Go wild.

Step 2: Be Rational

Now that you have your World's Most Original freak going on, it's time to tame that wild man from Borneo. In opposition to the crowd that writes psychopathic, emotionally-shredded teenage vampire mothers (and, incidentally,  are also the ones who end up with saggy tattoos by the age of 45), having the craziest characters are not the thing at which good writers aim. You likely do not identify with a purple-bearded, emo circus clown obsessed by the Wild West. (And if you do, perhaps you'd better leave this blog right behind those people who brush their teeth four full minutes a day. I don't know how to handle your type.) Readers want to identify with the people about whom they are reading. Hosting a contest for who can write the next exponentially-Lady-GaGa is not the venue in which most readers wish to find themselves. Save that for later. Instead, start asking yourself questions about your character like, "Why does it matter to the story that he loves peanut butter sandwiches?" "Does he need to be able to juggle knives?" "Does she really need to always be throwing argyle socks into daily conversations?" As original as you think you are, there is a certain level of common sense that must be employed in creating a character. Craziness does not attract me as a reader. I don't like mayhem. I want to read about plausible people and most readers of whom I've inquired feel the same. Think of the most enduring characters in the stories you've experienced and ask the same questions of them that you are asking your character. Through these questions, determine whether you even like all the aspects of the man you've created.

Step 3: The Slaughter-House

 

 

You figure out that you don't want to spend an entire book with this character. You actually hate clowns or you know nothing about the technical aspects of life on a pirate ship, or you don't have a passion for research and writing a good novel written in ancient Siberia is going to need more ferreting-out than you've time or inclination for. Good. Your questions have paid off. This is also the stage wherein much coffee is consumed and the hand holding your computer mouse frequently clicks on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. You are way caught up on your friends' posts and you click back every two minutes to see if anyone in the world has got interesting and posted anything new. (P.S. They haven't.)

Step 4: Toss-Up

You really do hate clowns and the fact of your character being a clown has absolutely nothing to do with your plot. This is now a non-negotiable and the entire original intent of your character seems to have floated away on a mist-green breeze. (Can breezes be mist-green? At this stage, it's certainly possible.) You have two choices, either of which can be correct, depending on your process. Option 1 is that you will scrap the character entirely. You either do not care so much for this creation of yours as you thought, or perhaps he did not fit this plot and you shelf him for another story another day. Or maybe you're able to be brutally honest and admit he's a pretty scrappy stupid dude and you wish you'd not spent eight dollars on lattes brewing him in your mind palace. Option 2 is that you rip to shreds your original idea and start tailoring something new out of the wreckage. Two doors, both right. Which will you take?

Step 5: Reconstruction

 

What part of this character forced you to choose Option 2 this time? What is so good about this literal brain-child that you have decided to keep him after all? In the case of our absolutely idiotic Original Specimen, he was a western-obsessed circus clown with depressive tendencies and a beard of amethyst hue. Reams of stuff have been cut off this idea until the only thing left is the fact that there is some guy somewhere who is obsessed with being a cowboy. And truth is, that's not terribly original. Back to the questions and patching together a new snapshot-inspired character out of the smouldering ashes of What Was. How can you make this odd obsession vital to the story? And then ideas start running ... 

Step 6: Successful Character Rendering

 

Now you've written and published that story that began with a truthfully horrible idea for a for a main character. But no longer are you trifling with ridiculous morons. You've given birth to a new character, you've written the story, you've published the book. Everyone is raving about Charlotte Rodero, the full-blooded Sioux chief's daughter who wants nothing more than to work as a cowgirl at a nearby ranch but whose grandfather (who can still remember the cowboy & indian altercations) is flagrantly against it and struggling with cancer to boot. "How did you come up with this unique character? Can you sign my copy? Where on earth did you get your ideas?"

Maybe you'll want to keep quiet about the emo circus clown, but success is addicting. Feel free to repeat the cycle over and over and over again. And as a completely humble side-note, these visual aids were created with sharpies and paper and photographed and cropped in PicMonkey and are therefore horrible quality and this post took me two hours to write, so bye.

"Well this is a horrific nothing from one end to the next."

Farnham wished his niece wasn’t there so they could get on with the facts of the case and Breen wouldn’t have yet another chance to call him an amateur. But the doctor, his oldest friend and volunteer nuisance, was intent on having the whole, long tale.

-Anon, Sir, Anon

In the interviews I have done on several blogs around the block, people have expressed surprise, amusement, and even "Wow...that's a good idea..." that I write in a variety of genres. What I love about bouncing about from one to the next is that I get a better sense of who I am as a writer: my strengths are more definite because they remain strengths through children's fiction, fantasy, and murder mysteries, and my weaknesses can't hide because I am always applying them to the next genre and seeing them wreak havoc which then has to be edited. Also, the sensation of getting to move on to a new genre is as addicting as jumping from an African desert to the steppes of Russia in one bound.

I am getting to do quite a few things differently in Anon, Sir, Anon. One of these things is the chance to finally write a fabulous friendship between two male characters. I have this thing about strong brother-friends that has made me want to write them for some time. Think Sam and Frodo, Merry and Pippin,  Jed and Matt Eckert in Red Dawn, Mole and Ratty in The Wind and the Willows, or Marcus and Esca from The Eagle of the Ninth...pretty much any two guys who have been through reams of life together and are still strong friends in the end. War movies do this to me all the time. I think this friendship tie is the thing that makes so many people like horse-and-boy or dog-and-boy stories...but I find it more fascinating when it is between two humans. With the friendship having humans on each side, both have their own lives, identities, and dreams...and when they can manage to stick together out of sheer will-power (i.e. not bound, as a man and woman are, in a marriage covenant), it's pretty amazing. Girl friendships are wonderful and sister-bonds are great but more than this, I love to read about manly pairs. I hate the term "Bro-mance", but there is something to be said for the concept of two guys who genuinely love each other in a Jonathon-and-David way that is so appealing. Quite unlooked-for, I get to play with this concept in Anon, Sir, Anon:

“‘I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last,’” Farnham said, not bothering to answer the unspoken question. It appeared to Genevieve that her uncle stared rather hard at his friend as if encouraging him to find some extra meaning in the words.

“Oh Lud.” Dr. Breen pushed his chair away from the table and crossed his legs, resting rough boots on the white tablecloth. He stretched his arms behind his head and grinned in an amiable way. “I know this one. I know I know this one.”

Doctor Breen and Mr. Orville Farnham have been friends since antiquity. When Vivi arrives at Whistlecreig, she is immediately swept into a bachelor-world that has been going on forever; a world with its own customs, phraseology, games, and traditions. There's a butler (Allen), there is Dr. Breen, (a seasoned, charming Scotsman), and there is Sir Toby Belch, the bloodhound. (Anecdotally, all the men refer to the hound as "Belch," which Vivi finds vulgar.) It is a great pleasure to write them and to find that I couldn't tell the story without Breen's help.

Breen put up a hand. “Didn’t mean to sound so rough, I’m sorry. But I am curious. I’ve been trying to get Farnham to have an indoor companion all these years--even a bird would do!--he’s always refused flat-down and now  he’s gone and got himself a...a woman!”

          “A niece, Breen. A niece!” Farnham hissed, glancing around as if he feared some slight on his reputation would leak out of the house and into the papers. “And she’s not company, she’s...” He looked her over. “Well, she’s medicine.”
Farnham is a confirmed bachelor with a sensitive soul; really, he's almost more of a woman than Vivi when it comes down to taking offense and needing his space. He's not at all easy to get along with, though he is generally painstakingly polite. Breen steps in where Farnham fails and plays chivalric country doctor with ease. He is my favorite man in the book so far, probably because he knows how to make tea:

     It was a pleasant thing to see an active man making tea; his manner was not at all coaxing as a woman’s would be: he commanded the accoutrements to do his bidding and biscuit and sugar-cube bent to his will, finding homes in a Bakelite ashtray and an overturned turtle shell. He spooned tea-leaves into the bobber and plunked it in a pock-marked, ceramic pot into which he poured the contents of the steaming kettle. A can of sardines was ripped open with the compunction of a polar-bear scenting a seal and from some obscure cabinet in the corner, Dr. Breen produced half a fruit-cake.

I quite love him. Also, he is the one who manages to smooth Vivi's feathers and make himself pleasant when the manliness of Whistlecreig and its inhabitants wear upon the nerves. Breen is, I imagine, the sort who. while being essentially masculine, is a thorough gentleman. He has the charm of an Irishman with the wits of a Scot and the placidness of a Brit.

 . Farnham had never been quite sure why Breen was such a universal favorite--probably something to do with his hair. People liked men with hair.

There is rather a funny reason Farnham is a detective at all, and Breen was in on it. Breen is Farnham's personal doctor as well as oldest friend. They went to University together and now live two and a half miles apart. Breen makes his home and practice at a suite of apartments above Mrs. Froggle's staircase that they have somehow dubbed "The Quagmire" (no one has told me why), and it is his particular pleasure to host people there in the evening. For all this cozy posing, under the urbane bedside manner, Dr. Breen is a man with a deep sense of loyalty and compassion...quite the perfect alka-seltzer to Farnham's caustic temperament. He doesn't excuse his friend's more bitter nature, but he does make allowances for poor health (the bang ulcers) and sees into his loneliness with quick and silent insight. In addition, Breen is the bridge between Farnham and the police because Farnham has no authority as an amateur and his friend, by virtue of being the village doctor, is given the special privilege of getting to attend all the murder scenes. Farnham probably uses the friendship sometimes, but there is an old, unspoken bond between the two that makes sitting about for an hour of silence with a pipe rather a common and pleasant affair. They don't have to talk. They are as close (closer, perhaps) than two brothers and entirely at ease alternately insulting and building-up the other's reputation. I just really really love this man.

“She’ll not be used to our ways. Dead bodies are part of my trade and you stagger down stage-murders thrice a week but Vivi...she’s not used to it. Be kind, blast you. Be kind.”

{Ciao} How to Write Accents

When I started writing, I was rather pleased with myself if I managed enough creativity to give a character an accent, let alone actually make his accent believable. But now that I've written several novels and read many more, I am beginning to get a grasp of what a believable accent "sounds" like on the page. There are several things to think about when you decide to give a character an accent:

• Their culture
• Their education
• Their grasp of the English language
• Their personality

//Culture//

Taking a look at culture will help you decide what words to use; if you are giving your character a ghetto accent, obviously there will be certain terms you will use that a Southern, small-town white character wouldn't use. If you neglect the vocabulary aspect, though, a Southern small-towner and an inner-city street kid are going to sound pretty much the same one paper:

"I ain't gonna tell you what I was doing last night. Ain't none of your business."

That sentence right there could be applied to either character which means that you probably aren't paying close enough attention to the culture from which they come. Not that every sentence in every conversation has to be laden with cultural references, but if you are thinking that throwing "ain't" into a sentence will make your reader identify with a kid from the Bronx, you're probably not working hard enough. Look for words you can throw in that the Southern small-towner wouldn't recognize if you yelled it in his face. (I'm not talking about cuss-words here.) Look for works you can tweak to change the "accent" of the phrase. Let's take the ghetto case:

"I ain't goin'a tell you what I's doing last night! Ain't none a' your business, fool."

Of course you can go way over-board with this and start sounding like Mark Twain and I am not trying to pick on the African-American culture; I grew up in semi-ghetto areas and was surrounded by black, Filipino, and Hispanic friends. Culture is just as important when you're writing a Brit or an Irishman or a South African or an Asian or even a New Yorker. Pay attention. British people have pet-phrases that they use often, like preceding everything with "sorry," because they have a national fear of coming across as blatantly impolite. (What I love about Brits is that they can be passive-aggressive that way. Cracks me up.)

//Education//

This is a simple category: ask yourself about your character's education and what kind of words they would use. Many people (I'm thinking Lena Lamont from Singing in the Rain) who might be successful but are not well-educated will stick with slang and oft-repeated phrases. ("Whaddya think I am? Dumb or sumthin'?" "Whaddya think you'll do? Fire me or sumthin'?") People who have a good education usually speak with more care...they use words most people don't think of, even if they aren't large words. Because of the breadth of their knowledge, they have more words at their beck; decide on how educated/uneducated your character is and go from there. A well-educated character in an unlikely place is quite effective, like Aibileene in The Help. She is one of my all-time favorite fictional characters and was self-educated, yet you could hear how smart she was even as she spoke inside her culture. In my novel, Anon, Sir, Anon, Dr. Breen, an old friend of Farnham's, is a well-educated man, yet his speech is a little rough by virtue of not being frequently subjected to Society & Women. He's full of gallantry and good-humor and is undoubtedly clever, but his word-choice would make a polished man twitch:

“My darling girl, are you tired of being roughed around like a heifer tugged to market?” Breen asked.

“I have heard it put in more eloquent words, but yes.”

“Hitherto you have been subjected to only the most uncouth bits of Whistlecreig: the fog, the mist, the damp, the cold, the bodies lying prostrate in fallow fields...shall we entertain her, Farnham?”

And it works because you can tell he's a country doctor who has a native sense of gentility but he's probably left his half-pound university words twenty-five years behind him.

//Grasp of the English Language//

It is fun to talk with foreign people and hear the way they construct their sentences. In fact, you can even hazard a guess from which country a person hails by how they structure their English. Other languages are much more sensible about things and I love to hear people (like my Romanian friends) speak because they often take the structure of their language and apply it to English words. I remember our dear, crazy Romanian friend, Cristi asking a group of strangers something in Romanian after we were trying to teach him "Ubbi-Dubbi" and when we inquired what it was he said, "I asked if they could speak birth-language." (Baby-talk) Another time when he swore he wouldn't make us laugh in the middle of church, our team-leader rolled her eyes and said, "Fat chance!" The look on Cristi's face was priceless and he said, "What are you calling me?!"

Still one more excellent (and funny) example of this is Gru from Despicable Me, who is a Russian:

"I have pins and needles that I am sitting on."

He takes a classic American phrase: "I'm sitting on pins and needles" and by saying it with a foreign construction, makes you hear the Russian accent, even on this blog. This is what you want to look and listen for while watching movies/speaking to foreign people. Also, if you know a second (third, fourth, fifth, etc.) language, consult it and see if you can lend a bit of exotic flavor to your dialog by reconstructing things! 

//Personality//

This is a good consideration for any character, but especially useful when you are writing a foreign character. Shy people will probably act like they can't speak English for some time but you will see them listening (and comprehending) and if you press hard and tactfully enough, they will suddenly out with rather flawless (if oddly precise) English. They will use short, mincing words and carefully chosen ones, as they will probably have translated a whole conversation in their heads and weighed all the words they know to carefully choose the right ones so as not to embarrass themselves.

Outgoing characters will probably zip through a conversation at a rapid rate (depending on which country they come from. Italians are good at stream-talking), sprinkling foreign phrases/words where they don't remember the English and assuming you will catch on to what they are saying via their facial expressions and context. Think about what personality-type your character has and whether they will be the precise, excellent type or the good-natured, chattering foreign national. Both are fun to talk to and paying heed to which your character is will help the reader understand the cultural accents you give to them.

What about you? Do you have any tips for writing accents that I have missed?

Also, I am being interviewed a However Improbable today! 

The Rummaging: when plot must be yanked by the hair

Over on Google+ (yeah, who uses that?), I often keep people updated with bits and pieces of things that never quite make it to the blog. After all, some things don't warrant an entire post of their own and are much better left to a short, snappy, 140-character status. But when I posted this photo (below) with a mention of character-profiling, Bree Holloway inquired further as to how this system works. What faith that child has: asking for instruction when I'd only posted the picture to show how few I'd got done, and how many more I had left.

 

However, there is a certain satisfaction in these closely-written sheets, and they have actually become life-savers for me so I will oblige Bree and the rest of you by explaining this method of Character Profiling. I like to call it "The Rummaging" and you may do the same. Surely another author-or-thousand has done this same method, but since as far as I'm concerned I made it up, I will take the time to post about it for your enlightenment.

Essentially, it all came down to this: my strengths are my character-interactions and their behavior on-page. My weakness is plot. I could banter and spar and cockawhoop all day long, but you might never get to that crucial scene that you're aching to read. And I go into my novels knowing that I will need to focus specifically on the plot. I've learned that and now it's not quite so much of a pain as it used to be - I'm growing used to having to drag plot from myself. Isn't that ridiculous? Some people have plots squirming out of their heads constantly; I have people. Que sera, sera. When I got temporarily out of temper with The Baby, I knew it was only because I had used up what plot details I'd thought up at the start of the project. I always have a beginning and an ending, but I seldom know the in-between. I had a handful of amazing characters but nothing for them to do.

That's when "The Rummaging" began. It started as a way for me to ask my own questions about Lord Darron Ap-Brainard, and to answer those questions in the best way I could. Questions like:

Who is he?

Where does he live?

Why not the House of Polaris?

What is he prepared to do in order to keep a member of the House of Rushes on the throne?

- Things like that; questions I didn't know the answers to myself, but that I knew would be vital to me understanding and portraying Ap-Brainard correctly. The funny thing is, in a way it's like a Beautiful People exercise, only...different. See, I Rummage: I ask myself sensible, pertinent questions and answer those questions with as much detail as I can, and the results are striking. I didn't stop at Ap-Brainard: I moved on to Smidgen and Starling and The Admiral and Leona and John Brady and Richmond, and there are still many more left to Rummage out. The best part of this exercise is that it builds plot on its own... I cannot set up a series of cause-and-effect and plug people into it. That does not work for me in the slightest; I have to dig and delve in my people and figure out what they do. That builds the plot quite apart from me. I found out certain characters have duplicity with which they certainly didn't start. Others have heroes who are part of Crissendumm's mythology that has a direct effect on their political tendencies in the current story. I don't use  completely the same questions for each character. Some are similar (i.e. I often note where they live) but others vary widely. Smidgen is one of the only characters who has a defined hero. Starling has a dream that is complicated and multiplied by a certain friendship. The Admiral has more responsibility and depth than many realize. But there was one question that helped with plotting more than any of the others:

How did they get involved with The Baby?

This question sets me up perfectly because I have to be able to provide an answer, and that links people to each other and then to events and all of a sudden, through this stack of question-and-answer sheets, I have the plot I was searching for. I spent most of yesterday afternoon finishing off most of the profiles, and my sense of direction with this story came back as I trusted it would. The only thing left to do is to go back through all the sheets and assemble the various details into one long timeline so I don't leave out any of the important details that have made "The Rummaging" a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

One of the best things you can do for your own writing is to know your strengths and weaknesses and watch those weaknesses with a close eye, doing things like "The Rummaging" when need be. I promise it is worth any of the extra work; I can't tell you enough how pleasant it is to sit down, pull Smidgen's sheet out of the stack and know exactly where he is supposed to be at what point in the plot. Bones, people. Bones. You've got to have a skeleton or all the skin in the world isn't going to bring the thing to life. Now that all its bones are in order, The Baby is back in business. I cannot wait to show you the thing in its entirety someday.

"Of some other metal than earth."

Leonato: "Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband."

Beatrice: "Not till God make man of some other metal than earth."

-Much Ado About Nothing

It seems that romance is as much a virus in the online world as it is in reality. In my everyday life people have been making matches of themselves at an alarming rate. I foresee many weddings in the next year or two... *feels dazed*... And the plague, as I said, has not limited itself to reality. It's crept onto the blogs beginning with Mirriam and quickly followed by Jenny with their respective posts on romance and How To Write It. I was not intending to follow suit. Not at all. But then I was looking through my copy of the screenplay of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing and came across Beatrice's vow and then I thought of something I've been meaning to write about and since it slightly aligns with the topic touched upon by Jenny and Mirriam, I'm giving it to you.

I bring up the topic of your Hero.

If there is one error Jane Austen and Elizabeth Gaskell made (perhaps) it is that their heroes are so....heroic. Let me rephrase that. Their heroes don't really have any obvious flaws. (Their female leads do....funny.) We women love Mr. Darcy and Mr. Knightly and Mr. Thornton and Roger Hamley. The only problems with those men are that two are misunderstood, one is a little critical, and one is a little blind. I love these fictional fellows as much as the next girl, but the transition from paper-to-reality is detrimental.

As humans we are all hopelessly flawed without Christ. There is no way a one of us would say that we don't have any faults.

Why, then, do we write characters who can boast near-perfection?

People say that fiction is a way to meet people where they are, take them along a fictional journey, and bring them out at the other end changed in some way. But how can you relate to a character and a journey that has nothing to do with your own life? Sure, a perfect man would be amazing, but I'm not a perfect woman so even if there were perfect men I wouldn't be the best help-meet to one of them.

One thing I've noticed is that Male Leads written by male authors always have plenty of faults...
Jean Valjean
Capt. Jack Aubrey
David Balfour
Benedick
Bilbo Baggins
Eustace Clarence Scrubb
Ebeneezer Scrooge
All of these men are flawed, and yet we identify with them. Why is it that women are the only ones who will write perfect men into fiction? It's strange. If a man portrayed his fictional men as archangels, the feminists would throw back their heads and howl, "UNFAIR!" but we women will create our own Mr. Darcy's and Mr. Knightley's and defy anyone who would point out their unrealistic points. The men aren't the ones crazy about Pride and Prejudice. Obviously they don't find perfect men realistic and honest enough to bother reading about. We don't write perfect women characters, do we? No. Our women all have bad tempers, or resentful hearts, or scabby pasts, or hidden fears--things that make them real. It's because we're easy on ourselves and aren't trying to boast perfection because we know we don't measure up. Then why do we hold men to a different standard?

Though this post is somewhat rambling, it does have a main point: I'd caution all writers to make sure that your male "hero" in your story has his own flaws. You don't want a one-dimensional character. You don't want a perfect man that will drive away other men from reading the book.

Look to the men in your life. The men around you. Look to your brothers and fathers and pastors and neighbors. Your uncles and the guy down the street. Goodness--look to Taylor the Latte Boy if you must, but let's cast aside the Perfect-Man syndrome.

It's not going to help women to idealize Mr. Darcy's perfections, only to find they can't be satisfied with a single real man. It's an age-old problem that even Shakespeare addressed when he wrote Beatrice's refusal of marriage:

"Not till God make man of some other metal than earth."

Till she reaches Heaven, perhaps? Ah--but then it will be too late. Better to conform our ideas of fictional and earth-men to the mold we have here and now. Men made in the image of God, flawed as we all are, reaching upward to Christ a little more each day, denying their flesh and seeking Him.

After all, despite what Jane Austen might say, that's the true definition of heroism.

"Business, my darling--as usual."

Because we all need a little cat + Vivian Leigh to brighten our day.

Of course it always is business right when you were hoping for a bit of Something Else. But, my dear people, we must have business--if we didn't there would be no commerce, and if no commerce than no economy and if no economy than we'd be America and--oh dear. I had not meant to go that far.

*Ahem.*

I wanted to alert all of you to the fact that The Anne-girl is having a The First Annual Scribbles Conference on her blog and I was chosen as one of a group of writers who are "Convention Speakers." If you would like to read my post on The Vividry of Commonplace People (otherwise entitled, characterization), follow this link. And if you'd like to read my answers to some questions put to me by some of you (perhaps) you can click on the question below...

"How do you describe scenery without sounding like a travel-guide?"

Incidentally, Jenny wrote up a post that so perfectly coincided with my thoughts on A Severe Mercy that they felt one and the same, so go and read that, please. You'll not regret it.
Adieu, my friends! I am deep in the throes of historical research for Au Contraire and am finding out more and more about Corinne Garnier and Renaud Tremaine--you must forgive me my abstracted state of mind. Keep your eyes and ears peeled for a Parisian excerpt in the near future, and in the meantime I will leave you with my current favorite "toast":

"If it's half as good as the half we've known, here's Hail! to the rest of the road!"

Achilles' Heel

Every one of us wants to be a successful writer--we want to know our strengths and weaknesses. We want to rely on the strengths but we want to shape our craft so that our weaknesses grow stronger with each book.

There are several spheres that I consider "strengths or weaknesses" for writers. They are as follows:

Plot

Dialog

Characterization

Description

My greatest strength has been (and I assume will always be) characterization. It makes sense because since I am always people-watching whenever I'm around people (and I'm a people-person) I get a deal of research done. It's really important as a writer to pinpoint your greatest strength and then try to find the places that need work. My nemesis, I think, is plot. My first book--written at age twelve--was entirely plotless. My second, A Mother for the Seasonings, is a very simple tale. (though a good one!). I got half-way through two other books that are still languishing in their word document files, but never finished them. You see, one had too much plot, the other not enough. By the time I reached The Scarlet-Gypsy Song I knew I needed a plot that could carry me through a novel without seeming stretched thin. "Like butter scraped over too much bread," as Bilbo says. And though I was able to spin out a tale with a plot that I liked very much much, it was still lumpy-bumpy and will take a deal of editing to make palatable. I will admit that even in this book my character-love came out first. You see, I didn't have a plot when the book was born. I had a phrase:

"There was Nannykins to begin with, but she had a bad knee and left for the North."

I mean honestly. What does that have to do with a father whose children get into his fictional world and his princess who gets out of it, and massive travail and bloodshed and angst and beauty? Nothing. But somehow I came up with a plot and the phrase and the rest lies in the bloodied pages of the Gildnoirelly. 

All this to say, I know that plot strength is a weakness for me. So I've been doing a deal of reading this summer in hopes of getting a little better at it. I just finished reading a book called The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner. She is not a Christian writer, but her skill is certainly a force to be reckoned with. I loved the plot anyway, but she put this huge twist at the end that left me reeling and marveling and wishing I knew enough to do the same.When we do research like this, it's helpful to ask yourself several questions:

Where did I think the plot was going?

How did she tailor my opinion one way so that she could whip the story around?

What was the most dynamic scene in the story?

How does the characters' personality/character play into the way the plot turns out?

I am excited. I've done my research and I have a good, strong plot for Scuppernong Days. I actually sat down and wrote it out in my writing notebook so that I know where I'm going. Y'see, my worst part is getting only major events and having difficulty stringing them together with important nothings. Of course there is wiggle-room for the plot changing and your characters changing and your idea changing, but for myself I find I can keep plot weakness to an ebb if I structure my story. :) What are your strengths/weaknesses? How do you strengthen your weak parts?

"Be sure of only two things: yourself and the ropes beneath your hands."

 -Mr. Nesbit, First Mate of The Scuppernong

Characters One Should Use In Writing...

Hey everyone! I want to introduce you to something amazing! To wit, a guest post by my hilarious friend, Bertie Wooster. Ahem. Sorry--pardon me. *Kicks Jeeves back into his corner* By my special friend, Miss Harriet Smith. Dear dear me. Let me try this once more. By my kindred spirit, The Anne-Girl. I asked her to write a little something to keep this writing blog from being entirely desolate while I'm away in Georgia, and so Anne rummaged up her humor (which is never far away) and wrote this merry, saucy little post for you to enjoy:

Characters One Should Use While Writing.

*disclaimer: this post is meant as a joke, I love and enjoy characters who belong to these generalizations. With that in mind go and read the post.*

In the course of my career as a writer it has come to my attention that I am not the only one striving for inky excellence{that I use keyboard and pencil more than pen is inconsequential} for the common good I have put together this list of characters to put into your books. These are not the only characters you are allowed to use.  But they are the most popular ones so read and learn peoples read and learn.

Here comes the wisdom.

The strong impassioned hero.

These are the guys who stare into the middle distance while delivering a speech on the hopeless quest that they have pledged their lives to. It helps if there is a swooning heroine{see below} gazing up at him for dramatic affect. These scenes are indispensable for insuring that your book will melt the heart of all female readers. Be sure that he saves people for breakfast and he must either have an accent or a horse. Preferably both. Also necessary for proper effect: a villain, two or three followers, and at least one scene being wounded.

The fainting heroine

Note: This kind of heroine doesn't have to actually faint, though it is helpful. Want to write a book about a hero without writing from a guys perspective? This heroine is for you! All she ever thinks about is the hero anyway so you don't have to mess up your book by telling about her story as well as his. it is obligatory that she have a sensitive mind and delicate beauty such as takes ones breath away. Phrases such as "she was in acute mental agony" and " ____ burst into an agony of tears and sobs" are useful to remember. She must be ready to die for the sake of her beloved one, or almost die so that he can either have the fun of rescuing her.  Further note: this kind of heroine must be small. If she is big you will find such stuff as "And then I took my darling in my arms and carried her insensible up the cliffs away from the certain danger though in truth she weighed no more then a child and even if she had I would have felt nothing so great was my joy at....ect. ect." {roughly paraphrased from Lorna Doone} rather hard to put in.

The tortured poet

To write one of these you must first understand that any action that does not have something to do with love will be chucked out of the window by readers as unrealistic. However these guys are so wild and mentally brilliant that you can get away with just about anything. Applesauce throwing, punching people with feet, writing reams of poetry, going off to war and getting shot, and banging their heads into trees are all things that can be put under the heading of "things done for love" as long as you make your poet tortured enough. Don't ever give them a happy ending. It would shame them and destroy their sense of the incomplete.  Besides it's mean to take people out of their comfort zones. 

The "different" girl 

The key to writing the different girl is to write her just like different girl ever written. Breaking the mold is unacceptable in this category. So listen carefully, these are the requirements of the different girl. She must live in a community where she is not understood. All {except a hero or two} must condemn her at least a little for her lone ways. She must be absolutely so beautiful that guys ask her to marry them on first meeting. But it must be a different beauty. Not the conventional beauty! On no account can this kind of character be beautiful in the common way. All the old ladies of her acquaintance must say she is "not pretty" She must be "starry" she must remind the hero of a lily or a star flower. She must have decided opinions but on no account can she know her own mind about the hero. She must repulse him at least once. Several times are effective and a refused proposal is the best way really.  She must walk by her wild lone and wave her wild tail. And she must either write or be wrapped up in stories of some kind. For further guidelines read the books of Lucy Maud Montgomery.  

The Sidekick

One word. Weird. Make them weird. If they are not weird then people will mistake them for heroes or heroines and that we do not want. Follow these three easy steps and you are on your way to the perfect sidekick. Think up a lot of cheerful quirky ways of stating life's truths then work them into the story with your sidekick saying them. Think up a quirky weird habit and give it to your sidekick. Kick the sidekick out of all the scenes where he is wanted and have him show up when he MC wants to be left alone. There you have it! The perfect sidekick.       

Anne girl is a young writer who enjoys alternately squealing over and pocking fun at her favorite things {such as characters}.  She loves writing, plot bunnies,  blogging, and laughing. You can find her at her blog Scribblings

Grit, Wit, It

It just so happened that before the June Crusade began, I had been re-re-reading (get that?) James Scott Bell's Revision and Self-Editing. It's a fabulous book, and one that I think every aspiring author (and even old-hands) ought to poke their noses into now and then. One point that I am always struck by is his section on what he terms "Grit, Wit, and It" Witness his introduction to this section:

"What is it that makes these characters unforgettable? In analyzing hundreds of memorable characters, I believe three factors prevail above all. I call them grit, wit, and it."

Obviously the first one leads perfectly into one of Mr. Bell's pet-peeves. NO WIMPS! Your protagonist should never be a wimp. Maybe he starts off weak in strength, but there is a way to write weakness that is as strong as strength. You have to put fight into your characters. Never let yourself write a wimp. You'll never get over it.

Point Two: Wit. This is something that I see precious little of in books, but when I do see it I cheer. There is nothing like a bit of wit thrown in unexpectedly. By wit, I mean something unexpected, clever, and throw-away. Something even so obscure that you don't even notice it's there the first time. Here, Mr. Bell talks about "wit":

"Wit is something that everyone warms to when it's natural, not forced. An easy way to do this is by making the wit self-deprecating. If the character as the ability to laugh at himself, wit will come naturally, as when Rhett Butler chides Scarlett O'Hara, 'Why don't you say I'm a damned rascal and no gentleman?'
Wit can also make light of an overly sentimental situation..."

In another spot Mr. Bell talks about a line of biting wit being "the perfect counterpoint to what could have become maudlin self-pity." I will admit, I'm not one who can write heavy drama. I just don't do it well. I've never liked melodramatic stories and I can't write it myself. Even in Fly Away Home when Callie is fleeing in tears from a humiliating moment when she loses it in front of America's most famous journalist, she can't help but find a tiny bit of humor:

"I continued my flight, weaving through the late lunch-crowd of my fellow journalists, hoping no one saw the tracks of tears in the powder on my face. I wiped my cheek with Annamaria’s napkin that I had somehow forgotten to let go of, and considered my options. I could leave the country. No—that wasn’t exactly doable. I had no money—besides. Mr. Barnett had already kindly pointed out that I was ignorant in all forms of second-langauges. And I didn’t suppose there was a secret island of Roman swine that would be willing to have me write articles in Pig-Latin for them. Nah—I didn’t recall reading anything of that sort in my high-school geography book."

Wit is definitely something that can add spice to a situation that might otherwise be run-of-the-mill.
The third and last component in creating unforgettable characters is "It". This is something that can be classified (in my mind) as charm. That thing in a person that causes people to flock toward them like bees to honey. As J.M. Barrie said: "It's a sort of bloom on a woman. If you have it, you don't need to have anything else; and if you don't have it, it doesn't much matter what else you have."
The characters with personal magnetism are the best. The ones that linger in your mind because even you can't help but be attracted toward them. Give your characters personality. Let them sparkle and snazz and do things you have no idea how you thought up. Let them be themselves and give them hearty helpings of Grit, Wit, and It with every meal. You'll never forget it. ;)

In defense of Callie Harper

After last post I realized I had made quite a mistake in not explaining Callie Harper to you better. In wanting you to love Jerry, I ended up making quite a pool of loyal Callie-despisers. That was not the intention of the post and now I find myself saddled with the enormous job of reclaiming her sullied reputation. Let me see how I do.

First of all, Callie is not a mean girl. She is only insecure in every way imaginable. Witness her mind in  action. :)

    All at once I realized the cabbie wasn’t taking me down Fifth Avenue. We had turned off Columbus Avenue where my apartment was, and were now meandering toward Broadway. I reached through the little pane of glass separating me from mine worthy host and rapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me. It is quite illegal for you to take me a different route from the one agreed upon. I have a constitutional right to go where I wish, as long as I pay.” 

    The cabbie shrugged and kept his eyes on the road, but through the rear-view mirror I could see he looked a bit unnerved. “What are you? A lawyer or sumpin?” 

    “I’m a newspaper reporter, actually, and if you don’t want to see your seedy cab-business written up on the front page of the St. Evan’s Post, you’d better take me where I want to go.” 

    My words sounded braver than I felt—I hated getting stuck in this sort of cab—having to use that constitution spiel. Now I wasn’t even certain I wanted to go down Fifth Avenue. I hadn’t any real business there—just wanted to scout out which penthouse I’d rent once I made it big.  Should I tell the cabbie to proceed on the course he’d chosen? But no—a woman had to stick to her word in NYC or the men would take shameless advantage over her.

Truth is, Calida Harper is a fish out of water. She doesn't know it, and even if she did, she wouldn't acknowledge it. But her father deserted the family when she was two years old. Her brother died in WWII. The men in her life have not stuck around and gradually Callie has grown a bit cynical. Still, she's not all bad. There remains in her a humorous, gentle, sweet streak that consistently appears for her cat, Nickleby, and at random moments for other people.
She wills desperately to be successful, glamorous, and famous. Her measure of her worth is in what other people think of her--therefore she gets complexes rather often, and wavers between self-satisfaction and self-doubt. Her issue is not her self-image. She knows she's pretty and can carry off pretty nearly whatever she puts her mind to, but rather she's wrapped up in the measure of professional success.
When Callie first meets Mr. Wade Barnett, she gets a jolt. He's like no one she's ever met, and truth be told, he annoys her. You see, she's rather jealous of Mr. Barnett. He's a man who cares not a jot for the world's opinion, nor tried to work his way up, and yet he's reached dizzying heights of success. Callie, on the other hand, lives for being a big-time reporter and it irks her to see him making so little of her favorite dream.
I think what makes Callie and Mr. Barnett tick as a pair is the fact that he consistently brings out her fun, easy-going, genuine side and gives her a new idea of what a successful woman might be after all. Callie's double-duty personality can be seen briefly here:

     Growling to myself over the unfairness of it all, I fled the office and stopped at the edge of the street. There—just across the constant stream of yellow traffic—was my destiny. “Wish me luck, Nickleby,” I muttered. I took a large breath, drew myself to my stylish height of five-foot-eight, and dashed across the street in a brief lull between cars. Shores never told me which building I belonged in—but I never bothered about such things, just followed my intuition. I walked with a firm step up the sidewalk, enjoying the clandestine sensation of treading on the golden side and belonging there. I grinned like a loony at everyone that passed by before realizing that sort of a loose, girlish expression in no way fit the image I’d built of the famous Callie Harper. I pooched my lips, dropped into a lazy saunter, and ambled up the sidewalk, searching for the place I belonged. 

“Miss Harper? Are you well? You look a bit faint.”To my extreme horror, Mr. Barnett was at my elbow; brown eyes bent on me with concern. “I was just looking out for you." 

That's what I got for elegance. I pulled my arm away from his touch and summoned all the hauteur I could manage. “I am exceptionally well, Mr. Barnett. And you?”

You can see how hard Callie tries to look and act and be perfect. Poor girl. Gradually as Callie works alongside Mr. Barnett on their Ladybird Snippets project her views are constantly opposed and challenged on every point. Will their individual differences get in the way of business? Will Mr. Barnett turn out to be just like every other man in her life so far? You will have to wait to find out. :) But I do hope I've given you a bit of a better picture of Calida Harper. I don't condone her behavior toward Jerry, and sometimes she's downright horrid. But don't hate her, for my sake. :)

I popped a chocolate caramel into my mouth and grabbed Pickwick off the table, opening to the silk ribbon that marked my place.  “Observe, Nicks,” I said. And even around the lump of chocolate my voice had a determined edge to it. “I take notes from the best masters.” I nodded out the dim window in the directions of Shores’ office and sucked my chocolate. “Let that be a lesson to you, Mr. High-and-Mighty. I won’t be easily squashed.”

It does rock about so.

I am joining up with Rosamund Gregory in her Character's Letters blog event. Rosamund had the bright idea to do a sort of beautiful-people event in first person, that we might get inside our characters' heads better. This fits perfectly in with my ideas for Scuppernong Days, as I was already planning on having a few letters to and from Nicodemus Murdoch thrown in here and there. So without further ado, Nick's first letter a'sailing to Imperia. He writes in a boyish, scattered hand on kitchen-paper--all he's been able to scrap since being hired on The Scuppernong for a cabin-boy. There are blots here and there because of the rolling of the ship, but over all he keeps things tidy...for a ten-year old boy:

My Imperia,
        I am finally sitting down (on a keg of pickled herrings) to write to you. I know I promised I'd write more often but it's harder than I expected, being a cabin-boy. Garrick--the ship's cook--keeps me busy running errands all over the ship for him. But he's a good enough fellow and he's kind to Black Swan. Black Swan is the ship's cat--you'd love her, Imperia. She is sleek and fat from all the mice she eats in the hold. She's fat, too, from all the kittens inside her. At least that's what Nesbit says. Nesbit is the pilot and knows ever so much about stars and the ocean-paths. He's my favorite aboard ship--he knew Father, Imperia! Fancy that. I was pleased to hear it, and I think he was pleased to see me. His eyes crinkled up like leathery moons and he smiled.
There are lots of first-rate chaps on the Scuppernong but this paper isn't long enough for me to tell you all about them. They'll have to wait for another letter.
I go to bed every night thinking of you. I pray too--I pray that you'll have enough to eat and warm clothes to wear, and that the Blackbird Woman will be kinder. Here's what's left of my pay--it isn't much but if you save it you can buy something pretty for yourself--a doll, maybe, or a hair ribbon. When I make our fortune you'll have all the dolls and dresses and ribbons money can buy and I will buy you a pony--one finer than the bay you admired so much at the fair last May Day. So wait for me, Imperia, and don't worry if I don't write often. I will write when I have something to tell you and when the ship is still enough--it does rock about so. But I'm not sea-sick and that is fortunate indeed. I was so afraid I would be and then I'd disgrace Father's memory and the whole Murdoch name, as we've always been sailors. You know.
Save my letters and someday when the Scuppernong comes back into harbor you'll be waiting for me on the wharf and I'll pour a whole pile of gold into your apron.We'll go directly to the inn and buy hot mince pies, as I'll be hungry for food of that sort--I'm already hungry for food of that sort, having nothing but salt-pork and biscuits for the past fortnight. Write if you get a chance and remember always that I love you.
I am your loving brother,
                    Nick

Characterization: A sort of mental squint

I say I can sit there and Do Nothing, but the truth is, even when I'm not physically writing, my brain is. One way in which I can boast of being like Elizabeth Bennet is that I am unusually accurate in first impressions. You see, I like to sit and make people's character out. I challenge myself to garner a proper first impression of a person and to afterward observe them and see if I came close. I generally am fairly accurate. :D
A rather fun exercise (and something I do compulsively most of the time) is to describe people you meet as characters from books. I had ample opportunity to amuse myself this way the past few weekends as I was down amongst a whole group of strangers working on a wedding. All you have to do is look at people with a sort of mental squint and capture it in words. Really, it's a great way to practice characterization--I prescribe one round of doing this at least once a month to freshen things up. :)

       "She studied him as he stood on the ladder and fiddled with the lights on the stage. A tall, well-built young man. Young. And immature. She smiled to herself over the quick pronouncement, but she knew she was right. Only youth carried a splendid figure with that loose, careless gait. As he turned she caught sight of his face. He was not handsome--or was he? She could not make up her mind as to the whole of him, and as he dismounted the ladder and strode up the aisle she examined his individual features. Straight, white teeth and quick smile--very nice. Brown eyes with long lashes--lashes too long for a gent, but still pleasant to behold. A fine nose.
        She settled back in her chair and bit her lip, eyebrows crinkled. Every feature in the young man's face was regular and handsome. How then, did he fail to please her?"

"The tall, lanky fellow lazed into the room. She'd been warned of him--told he was a charmer, a flirt, a wit. And as he made his round of the girls in the room, voice loud and bold and smooth, she knew what she had heard was true. Here was a man who demanded a full measure of attention from everyone in the room and who would get it or perish in the attempt. Yes, he was pleasant...no, she did not like him at all."

(And no--I don't generally find such fault with people. I examined quite a few more and found them charming. ;)

A man of deepest gloom...

In the plotting/beginnings of writing Keeping Tryst, I have a clear idea of what I want my villain to be like, only I'm starting to see that Lord Peregrine Rouncewell and I will be going hammer-and-tongs to cooperate with one another. You see, he's rather a complicated beast.

In the land of Coombelynn there are two major ruling families: The House of Keeptryst and the House of Rouncewell. I'm still exploring back-story, but here's the main history of the whys and wherefores. The Keeptrysts and Rouncewells were once feuding families, but in an era of peace a new pattern of rule was set up: every three generations the ruling of the Coombelynn is transferred from one House to the other.
For the past two generations the ruling has been in the Keeptryst Seat. Lord Bretton Keeptryst is the First Lord of the House of Keeptryst and is currently the ruler of Coombelynn. As is tradition in this House, his reign and his fathers' has been one of merrymaking, pleasure, revelry, and ease. The land prospers under this gracious family, glad for a respite from the harsher, pious and legalistic rule of the Rouncewells.
But Lord Peregrine Rouncewell sees the country turning from the fearful, cowering holiness of his family's reign. He fears they are losing all touch with piety and holiness and the pursuit of such things. In addition, Lord Peregrine is in love with Bretton Keeptryst's pledged bride, the Lady Merewald. He is tempted to kill Bretton himself to keep the land from falling to further ruin and to make reparation for all the revelry and loosening in the land with a strict regime of militarily enforced piety:

Were Bretton Keeptryst not the First Lord of the Coombelynn, Lord Peregrine himself might have taken his chance with the pricking of him. He’d like to see a bit of that proud red blood flowing outside of that proud red body. “You may keep the Lady Merewald,” Lord Peregrine said, bending low over his mount’s neck so Bretton mightn’t see his scowl. “She will prove witching enough, I have no doubt, to ruin the whole of the Coombelynn.”

-Keeping Tryst

So when a certain catastrophic something happens to Bretton while on a hunt, Lord Rouncewell sees it as fair judgement from the Lord on Bretton's pleasure-filled existence. He does nothing to save this young man and instead returns to the house, feeling avenged. He demands the Lady Merewald do her duty by her countrymen and marry him, that they might repair the country.

There is more. Much more. But I have fallen into a quandary that I'm sure will prove quite interesting in the formation of the plot.

Y'see, Lord Peregrine is not intentionally a villain. He is bound up in generations of tradition, legalism, fear, and desperation. He sees the Keeptryst family as a genuine threat to the inhabitants of Coombelynn--the people he desires to protect and lead. So in leaving Bretton to die in the forest Lord Peregrine truly believes he has done the right, just thing in ridding his land of the House of Keeptryst. After all, there are no male heirs since Bretton had not wed Lady Merewald yet, and now the House of Rouncewell can tighten the reigns again and return Coombelynn to the sorrowing, straining land it was two generations back.

There are two sides to Lord Peregrine that--I believe--make him quite an interesting villain. He murders a man (for all intents and purposes, that's what he does) while believing he is behaving righteously. He forces a land into misery, poverty, fear and trembling--and believes he acts aright. He forces a woman who does not love him to marry him, believing he has rescued her from a life as the wife of a reveler and a fool. And yet for all these things, Lord Peregrine is becoming the villain of this book.

...rather sad and interesting, I think. I've always liked a villain I can sympathize with! :P

He's an unlikely menace.

The Scarlet-Gypsy Song is a bit different than most books [even fantasy] because the cause for all the trouble in the tale is double-breasted. You see, Randolph Fitz-Hughes is the villain, indeed, and yet all the trouble in the whole book is rather inadvertently caused by one man:

Mr. Adoniram Woolcott Macefield 

He's  an author, you see, and Cecily Woodruff, Diccon Quarry, Lad, Dear-Heart, even the villain himself were all created by his pen. The events in the story are dictated-to by Mr. Macefield's imagination. It's all part of his book that he hopes to publish and get wealthy by. So when he children get into his book and his heroine gets out of it, there's rather a kerfuffle. Here's the scene directly after Cecily has told him the truth about what has happened:

The clock ticked, beating a funereal rhythm into the otherwise silent room. Cecily remained seated, her eyes still fixed on Mr. Macefield who had not stirred for ten full minutes from his current position—head on desk, arms over head, hair sticking wildly up like untrimmed grass around a fence. She wondered if this man had been so overcome by her tidings that he’d fainted—but such a person would hardly be worthy of the name of Man. He must be lost in thought, as she herself had been when she heard the news. She shifted in her seat and the chenille of her dressing gown made a soft hushing noise—enough to rouse Mr. Macefield from his brown study. He raised his head a mite, his eyes darting from one corner of his desk to the other, as if the thing he had lost were to be found somewhere under the litter of papers and empty, coffee-stained teacups.

Cecily cleared her throat, sufficiently encouraged by this sign of life to get on with the business of solving the monumental problem before them. Mr. Macefield responded with a slow shake of his head as if he’d been a great Newfoundland just waking from a nap.

“You’re quite sure they’re gone?”

“Quite.”

“Ah. I thought so.” Mr. Macefield’s lips pressed against each other and it struck Cecily that he looked a much older man now than he had but a quarter of an hour before.

“What can be done, sir?”

“That would be the question, would it not, Miss Woodruff? I—I mean, your Grace.”

Cecily’s smiled at the quick recovery and the discomfited expression on her author’s face as he stole a sidelong glance in her direction. She put out a small, white hand and bowed her head. “I am not worthy of any such title, sir. I have done a terrible deed this morning.”

Mr. Macefield dropped her hand, which he had taken reverently, and scraped his chin. “You don’t mean to say you did it on purpose?”

“Never, sir!”

“No—no, your Grace. Forgive me for even wondering.” He scraped his chin again and chuckled nervously.  “You are not capable of any such thing—ha ha! I wrote you—I ought to know that much—you are kindness itself and beauty, grace, accomplishment, and modesty besides. Do forgive me.”

“You are forgiven, Mr. Macefield, but I can’t help wondering what is to be done in the matter?” Cecily fumbled with a pile of trimmings from pen-nibs and fixed an intent gaze on the man before her. He shrugged, tugged at his cravat so it lay even more cocked to one side than usual, and harrumphed.

“In cases such as these,” he began, frowning, “it is customary, I believe, to call the policeman.”

“The policeman! Surely you would not put the future queen of Scarlettania in—”

“Jail? Certainly not. A blunder again. But what else does one do in the case of missing persons? And so many missing all at once.” He tossed his hands in the air, fluttered his fingers like a covey of doves, and smiled. It was apparent that, for the moment, the idea had rendered him quite helpless.

Cecily leaned forward in her chair. “There is one difference in our case than most others, sir.”

“Indeed? Is there? The children are missing, and nowhere to be found, certainly?”

“But that is not so, Mr. Macefield—they are to be found. We know where they have gone—the only trouble is, we cannot get at them.”

Mr. Macefield smiled again. “Capital logic, Miss Woodruff—er, your Grace. I ought to have thought of it myself.”

Cecily smiled; glad to have her piece spoken. The matter was entirely in her employer’s hands now. It was only he who had the power to do anything to change to course of events. She sighed. Court-life had not taught her how to handle such a dilemma, though it had taught her many a valuable skill. A sun-beam warmth crept into her heart, the precursor of a laugh—perhaps they ought to begin a royal class on What To Do If One Loses Her Charges. But there were graver matters at hand.

“What is your course of action?” Cecily asked. Her employer’s course of action, at present, seemed to be to clutch his hair and stare, sighing now and smiling then, frowning in between.

He stirred. “I suppose the only thing to do is to…write them home.” He sighed then, and overwhelm registered so strong in the slump of his shoulders, Cecily could hardly bear to look upon him. “But see here, your Grace—is there not another way? What about the box? Surely you have it with you?”

Cecily shook her head. “I’d thought of that—but your children are most thorough in their mischief—they took the box along.”

Mr. Macefield nodded and scratched his nose. “I only wondered—I might have gone in after them.”

“And what then? The box can only carry people forth—never call them back. Where it dances once it cannot tread again.”

Mr. Macefield slid half-way down his chair till only his cravat, his head, and his hair were visible above the sea of paper. “I had forgot that.”

“Then, sir,” Cecily said, standing and smoothing her skirt. “You had better start writing.” She turned to leave.

Mr. Macefield scrambled under his desk and blocked her retreat. “Isn’t there another way? Something else I can do right now?”

Cecily peered over his shoulder at the desk, chair, bookcases, and tables awash in manuscript. A brief interlude in the madness might aid the poor man’s agony. Then her stomach turned a somersault as remembrance forced itself upon her mind. “Well, there is one thing that must be done immediately.”

“Alleluia—what is it?”

“We must tell your wife, sir.”

Introducing "Higglety Hill" :)

Well, just to get an idea out of my brain and down onto paper, I wrote this little piece of nothingness. I suppose I'll keep it on hand if I ever need another novel idea! (As I'm sure I will :) This is mainly characterization, as it is told from a narrator-type voice, but who in the world cares when one is scribbling inspiration? ;) So here I give you, for your enjoyment:

 "Higglety Hill"

By Rachel Heffington

 To have suggested they nail down the loose step so it would not creak would have been heresy. To recommend a few more real pieces of furniture among the telephone-wire spools and orange crates would have been blaspheme. For, the owners of Higglety Hill were adamant—not a thing should be changed. Could be changed. If one began meddling about dear Higglety Hill it would quickly slide into the ranks of Just Another Place—“Japs,” the children called those legions of blind, unloved, empty houses scattered over the countryside.

Higglety Hill began as a Jap. But that was, of course, before the Beckett children had discovered it and given it a name. Now to suggest that Higglety Hill had ever been such a thing would earn you an indignant stare from Olivia, a fierce growl from Hugh, and a pained cry out of Jemma.

“Higglety Hill a Jap? How dare you?” they might say, and naturally that would be an end to any acquaintance you might have with the place, for the Beckets were jealous as dragons over Higglety Hill. They were fierce about it, I tell you, which is why they swore that, were there any other children on Sparrowleave Lane, they should not be friends with them anyway. But there were no children on Sparrowleave Lane save themselves.

Jemma, who was six, might have been “Jemima” once, but no one could remember so no one cared. Her entire character could be pinned on that maxim, for Jemma was the quiet Beckett. She was the one people glanced at, forgot about, and were startled by the next moment when she cleared her throat and fixed her blue eyes on them, reproachfully.

Olivia was the oldest Beckett and it was she who had suggested they name Higglety Hill. She named everything, even a particular freckle on Hugh’s elbow that she christened “Moss.”

“Moss?” you might ask.

“Why not Moss?” she’d answer with all the loftiness twelve years bestows, and become even more mysterious. It was Olivia’s habit to be mysterious over the oddest things. You might be eating a picnic lunch and she’d raise the lid of her sandwich, peer inside, then look at you. “I won’t tell you what’s on mine.”

“What’s on yours?”

 “Not telling.”

“Pickles?”

“No.”

“Ketchup?”

“What?”

“Ketchup.”

“No.”

“Mayonnaise?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“Mustard, ham, and cheese,” she’d say at last, taking an enormous bite out of her sandwich.

“That’s what we’ve all got!” You’d cry in frustration.

“I never said it wasn’t,” she’d reply, staring at you as if she found your company dull and rather taxing.

This particular habit of Olivia’s vexed Hugh who was always curious and therefore always asking questions. His favorite was “why?” or perhaps “what?” (pretending he was deaf) or once in a very long while “wherefore?” which he had read off of a torn page of Shakespeare’s Illustrated Companion next to a picture of a man in colorful tights whose named appeared to be “Romec.” The page was chewed by a mouse there at the last half of the word and Hugh walked about feeling that somehow there was more to fellow’s name than he had been able to decipher. “Romec” wasn’t any sort of a name at all.

In addition to Hugh’s curiosity, he was the Beckett no one could forget—his duckling-yellow hair made sure of that if his pert opinions failed, which they hardly ever did.

These were the owners of Higglety Hill, and this is their story.