"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.”

The Motley Array

As an avid reader, I've "fallen in love" with many characters over the years. But there are just some that stick with you so that they become literally a part of you. Characters that wormed their way into your heart so well you know they'll never come out. Sometimes they are annoying. Sometimes they are endearing. Sometimes they're just plain stubborn and stick there because you can't forget them, not by any great doings on their part. Abigail wrote a post recently on Straw-Men, then followed it up with a post full of examples of perfectly flawed characters we love. Because like we've discussed here before, you can't endure perfection in a mortal. Anyone who has read the Elsie Dinsmore books will concur. We were all in awe of that plaster of Paris child, but she wasn't relate-able, and hence unlovable. At least by me. But this is all hogwash without examples. It's a fantastic exercise in formulating your own characters, this digging up the ink-people who have stuck to you through the years and figuring out where they went right. Here are some of my tops, and why I love them so.

Puddleglum

I am not certain what C.S. Lewis meant for us to do with this Marshwiggle creature, but I reacted to him by getting a deep, "groaner" fondness for him. I can't take him seriously, but he's stuck in my heart forever. Perhaps what I liked best about him was the fact that, for all his grumblings and pessimism, there was a warm heart under the muck. And at the end of The Silver Chair when even Jill and Eustace are beginning to doubt Aslan, it is Puddleglum who gives the Lady of the Green Kirtle a run through the wringer with his blind faith. That, my friends, is the unforgettable moment of an unforgettable character.

Ralph Touchett

This rather obscure character from The Portrait of a Lady somehow wormed his way into my heart too. He is an invalid and a bit foolish, but faithful as a Labrador. He loves Isabelle Archer to the point of ridiculousness, yet never pushes himself at her. He knows she doesn't love him, but if he can't be her love, at least he'll be her friend. When he *SPOILER* dies at the end of the book *END OF SPOILER* I cried. I really did. It was so sad to see him go. And yet what did he do? Nothing much. Just a stupidly stubborn man with a soft heart and death in sight.

Sydney Carton

Abigail did cover him, and yet a character that makes me cry and entirely redeems a book I was so-so about till the end, must have his corner of fame. Until the last third of A Tale of Two Cities, there was no real reason to love him. He was mysterious, yes, and inadvertently did some good. But there was nothing riveting about him...until his marriage proposal was rejected and then, then, he did not go off to sulk as pretty much everyone AHEM (Mr. Cox?) AHEM does, but instead became the man it had always been in him to be if he'd only taken a bit of trouble. And the trouble he took? That was what made me cry. A selfless act that turned A Tale of Two Cities into one of my favorite books of all time.

Chet Morton

Okay. The Hardy Boys hardly counts as literature, and yet I absolutely cannot forget about Chet Morton. (Perks to Abigail Taylor for reminding me that he counts. ;) My reading career and my first foray into mysteries began simultaneously with The Bobbsey Twins, quickly moved to The Hardy Boys, and finished with Nancy Drew before I realized what literature really was. But all that to say, I love Chet. No reason. He's just Chet. Along the same vein, I love Gus-Gus in Cinderella. They are conjoined in my mind. Truly. I think of one, I think of the other.

Gavroche

You knew I'd mention him, didn't you? Dear little Gavroche. In Les Miserables, he's the chap who stole my heart. Marius? Posh. Enjolras? Aw, poor guy died. Gavroche? Brave to the bitter bitter end, and all the braver because he was under ten years old.

Samwise Gamgee

He almost doesn't make this list because I do consider him a hero. But somehow in the mainstream, Frodo takes top-notch spot and I disagree. So Sam? Have your party here because I love you. Samwise is just one of those characters whose friendship you feel extends past the pages of the book and to you, personally. I never felt he was just Frodo's friend. I felt he was my friend. And if you think that's sappy, just you try to resist the urge to slap someone when Sam gets blamed for everything. ARGH!

Nicholas Higgins

In North and South, Higgins is pretty much my favorite character. Excluding Mr. Thornton, of course who, while being very flawed indeed, is still definitely "hero" material. Too much so for this list. Higgins is pugnacious. He's agnostic. He's stubborn and rough and "a terrific firebrand". And yet he is one person I can never get out of my head when I think of North and South. Perhaps it was because he was so essentially man, hewn, as he was, out of the stone of the upcountry. Higgins, while being mostly flaws, also has the distinct virtue of being a family man. He loved his daughters. He didn't turn away when Boucher dies and leaves all his kids alone in the world.

Phil & Mr. George

This pair from Bleak House are just so tenacious. Mr. George is a fighter. He's the black sheep of the family through his own fault. He ran away from home and he's too proud to come back. But no one can match the two of them for decency and loyalty.

Rachel Lynde

Okayyyyy. I know you'll probably not agree, but I had to throw her in here. I mean, if Anne Shirley hadn't had a nemesis (because to be honest we all loved Gilbert and couldn't see him as the antagonist, right?) then there would have been very little pizazz to her story at all. (and there's not much of it now, much as I love the books) Rachel Lynde is one of those people who sticks to me like a burr. Possibly because if I was an old lady living in a sleepy country town and I didn't write or read or broaden my horizons in any way but gossip, I might be an awful lot like her. Plus our names are similar. Scarily so.

Bohun

I will be brief about him, because really, he's a villain. Yep. I said it. And he's from With Fire and Sword which I doubt anyone else has read. (looks for a show of hands) I don't know why I liked him. The whole book is definitely melodramatic (Bohun even more than the others), but somehow I had a soft spot for him. Poor dude. I respected him for not taking advantage of Helen even though he had ample opportunity to do so. And his reckless passions were not liable to resisting temptation. So when he did resist you had to give him a nod. In that case, I must also mention Zagloba and Pan Podbipyenta who I also loved. Oh! and what's-his-name...this little fierce one. Michal. Yes. Him. That book was full of such characters. I mean honestly--at 1200+ pages, you had plenty of time to get attached.

These are my people. Who are yours?

A corrupt-tempered mood.

I stumbled across some character-notes from this past summer. Notes about people I met through the season whom I had the foresight to describe a little, that I might use the memories later in formulating new characters....here are some of the entries:

Rather shabby, lumpy, pale clerk with limp moustaches who is kindhearted, dull, and rather hopeless. His daughter works at the coffee shop downtown, of which he's rather proud and mentions often.

Old woman who is 1/4 negro and whose husband holds a prejudice against the race. He always uses the "N" word, but "he's the first to stop on the side of the road if one is broken down." She wishes she had the funds to do a blood tests on her husband and see if he has any negro blood. Husband wears an eye-patch.

Old, blind woman whose mind is still very sharp and who calls herself the matriarch "who doesn't do anything."

(during one particularly trying afternoon this summer, I vented to myself in third-person.)

Every point was countered with a remark of a dismally cankerous nature, inconvenient to the point of frustration and boiling indignation. Anything said was bound to be parried and disagreed with and so, valuing her own composure of spirits over the beauties of conversation, she purposed to say nothing at all....

....Being in his presence felt a deal like being locked in a dryer. They tumbled about, haphazard, from one subject to another and got in royal tangles at every turn. She felt her patience, like a left sock, disappear somewhere in the cavern of his thoughts, never to be heard from again..

(my coworker was fond of singing and anecdotes...)

...Was this how it felt to be in a musical? She'd always thought it to be a pleasant idea, but now she was not so sure. One couldn't say a thing without him striking a pose, raising a finger, and relating one anecdote or another from the hoards he had collected over the years for just such an occasion. Drat brilliant people, she thought. They drowned your own thoughts in the fury of their intellect. He was a genius cast in a variety show, and she was his audience--held captive by the single fact that if she did not put up with him, she would not receive her paycheck.

Is constantly making up new and ridiculous salutes for D. Reads favorite parts of Shakespeare aloud from the computer screen. Prints the words to songs I'm singing so I won't have to hum.  :)

In more recent news, a dear woman from our church brought her grown son with her. He is mentally challenged, but the most precious fellow. He's got a memory like a steel-trap and reads the dictionary for fun. Our dog scared him, however, and put him in a sour state of mind...

His Mother: "Well aren't you in an ill humor!"
Bill: I am not in an ill-humor. I'm in a corrupt-tempered mood!"

Of course I had to write that down in my writing journal. I mean, it's brilliant. I am intent upon using it someday, though perhaps in a different context. :) People-watching and listening and observing is a huge way to grow your knack for writing characters. Keep track of these things! It's hilarious to read over later on.

Of Rembrandt and Beatrix Potter

Jenny challenged us this afternoon to write a post about the way we describe our characters. After reading her bits of description I felt a tad disheartened about my own. I don't do amazing. But Jenny raised a proverbial eyebrow at me and gave me this piece of advice:
"I ask for all your Rembrandts and your Beatrix Potters. There is something lovely in each of them."
So of course when she put it that way I had to comply. I rummaged through Fly Away Home and brought out a few pieces of description that weren't too shabby to see the face of the public, and now you will read them and judge for yourself.
The first rule of describing your protagonist is not to use the Mirror Trick. At least, not right away.Sometimes you can't avoid the mention of a mirror throughout the entire course of the plot, but by all means save it till the end. Or the middle. Or something reasonably far from looking like a crutch. The Mirror Trick is that handy, cliched way of showing what your main character looks like by showing them looking at their reflection in the mirror. But how--especially in a first-person novel--do you get around that? I attempted one method in this bit about Callie:

I grabbed a handful of my dark, wavy hair and squeezed it between my fingers. How was my perm holding up? Drat. Split-ends. Time for a trim again. It cost far too much, I’d decided, going to the beauty parlor twice a week to get my hair styled. I just couldn’t afford it—people died often enough, but obituaries don’t pay that well. Consequently I looked like Elizabeth Taylor sopping wet and run through a wringer.

Here you get a bit of Callie's quick wit, her sense of humor, her habitat (1950's) and her appearance. Not too bad, really. My next task was describing Mr. Barnett. I did a very blunt description at the start where Callie reminds herself that she {along with every other young lady in America} has memorized his face. He's famous after all! But along the way I've managed to drop other observations into his character and appearance while avoiding the commonplace:

Mr. Barnett laughed—it matched the elbows of his coat: shiny, worn, genuine 

That bit is, perhaps, one of my favorite pieces of description about Mr. Barnett in the book. I myself treasure laughter so knowing what a person's laugh sounds like is really important to me. Also, those three words totally describe Mr. Barnett's personality, his history, and his coat all in one smack. Eyes are windows to the soul. That's why I can't stand talking to someone wearing sunglasses. But sometime's one can glimpse too much of a good things, as Callie experiences early on in their relationship:

He shifted and bent to look into my eyes. I tried to hold his gaze but it was too open and honest for me. I saw hopes written there, and dreams. I saw a soul and it troubled me. I preferred the cold glaze so much of Manhattan wore—it saved one the trouble being hurt.

But if eyes are good then tone of voice is even more fun to play with. I do like this one line:

"My voice had horns and callouses and was hot to the touch."

...I can picture exactly what that voice sounds like. But moving on. Of course, I managed to get Callie to give me an assessment of Mr. Barnett in one fell swoop. It was rather clever of me, because Callie is not exactly a helpful, suppliant person you'll understand.

Ladybird Snippets. I like it. What do you think?”

What did I think? I sipped my coffee so I wouldn’t have to answer yet. I thought it was a name that perfectly fit my growing picture of Mr. Barnett:  old-fashioned, out of touch with reality, and pretty darn cute.

And then we come to the side-line characters who I love describing. I go by the rule that every character--whether he's a cabby, a doorman, a deli-man, or the printer--ought to have their moment of fame. You have opportunities to make even these shadows memorable by giving them a bit of interest of their own. I am very fond of Annamaria: an Italian baker who once had views of being an opera-singer before she gave it up for a family and children. I'll end with the scene when she and Callie meet for the first time:

...It was then she caught sight of me. “Ahhhh!” (There was a world of meaning in that “ahh” and its accompanying sweep of my person.) “You bringa your pretty girlfriend for lunch, no?”

I examined the clippings on the wall and pretended like I hadn’t heard. Still, from the corner of my eyes I studied Mr. Barnett. He appeared as composed as usual. “No, no, Annamaria—she’s my assistant. I’ve started a new job and she and I are out to change the world.” He motioned for me to come closer and I obeyed—a new sensation of shyness creeping over me.

Annamaria wiped her hands on her apron and shook her head at Mr. Barnett. “Assistant, girlfriend—bah! She’s still beautiful.”

I kept my eyes on the floor, but Annamaria’s thick forefinger was under my chin in a moment and she lifted my head so that I looked into her face. It was broad and good-humored, and red as the roses in her cotton-print dress. She wore little gold hoops in her ears, and when she smiled her teeth were parted in the middle. I found her delightful, and I suppose she approved of me, for she startled me by planting a hearty kiss on either of my cheeks and patting my back. “You helpa heem, no?”

“Yes ma’am, I do.”

“And what’sa your name?”

“Calida Harper, ma’am.”

“Calllida Harper.” She tasted the name, trilling the “l” as if she savored it. Then she chuckled. “Eet sounds like an opera-singer name. Very good—I like-a you.” With that, Annamaria squeezed back behind the counter and continued her work.

Faces of The Scuppernong

Welcome to the many faces of Scuppernong Days. In the future you will hear a deal about them, I'm afraid. :) This is by no means an exhaustive list, but it does serve to give you an idea of what the characters in this book look like.

Imperia Murdoch

Elliott

Cook (in stolen regimentals? ;)

Amaranto

Bianca

Jacob

Mr. Lightwood

Fisher

Doctor Merrit

Mr. Nesbit

My Samwise Gamgee :)

I have been working a great deal on Fly Away Home. Remember that novel? I suddenly got my inspiration back for it, so I've decided that I'll work on both FAH and Scuppernong simultaneously. When I get tired of writing for grown-ups I'll switch over the Scuppernong, and vice-versa. For now I wanted to introduce you to one of the characters in FAH that is more of a side-character, but whom I have fallen in love with. Meet Jerry Atwood, the lobby-man at Callie Harper's apartment building. Okay. So I admit, his character is much like Samwise Gamgee's, but honestly I had no thought of choosing Sean Astin to represent him until I had already written his first scene. :) Now it fits perfectly:

Awww...I love Jerry. :) He has rahther a large infatuation with Callie and would do anything in the world for her. He's genuine, loyal, sweet, and entirely unappreciated. Poor fellow. She sees him rather as an annoyance, but I have a suspicion Jerry is one of those heart-people who one can't forget. Ever.
Here are a few of his shining moments so far:

       I slipped past the reception desk, hoping that Jerry would not be on duty—he always managed to address me in a way that it would be absolutely blatantly cruel of me to ignore. Plus, he had the sweetest little British accent which made it seem even crueler to ignore him. Blast manners—I wonder what Emily Post would think of me if I told her I plotted my schedule—my comings and goings—around who was on duty.

-Fly Away Home

 

        “Miss Harper! How was work?” His round, jovial face beamed at me. Dear Jerry. I had to share my good news with someone and because Nickleby—even if he was a darling cat—did not exactly count as someone, my manner toward Jerry softened.

-Fly Away Home

     “Good morning, Miss Harper!”
      I wiggled my fingers in an obscure reply to Jerry’s white-gloved salute.
     “Going forth to charm the world, are we?” he asked.  “Be yourself, Miss Harper. They’ll love you for it.”
       Something in his words stopped me in my retreat through the lobby. Jerry’s round, boyish face lit up as I came over to the desk. “I don’t know, Jer,” I said.  I drummed my fingers on the desktop and bit my lip. “The world wants glamour and glitz. I want glamour and glitz. “
     “Glamour and glitz?”
      “Yes, yes. You know, dinner parties and glittering gowns, and awards and the opera. Gold cigarette cases and mink stoles, dozens of men sending flowers—all that. New York City will know Callie Harper as a dangerous, elegant woman.” My heart beat faster at this verbalizing of all my hopes and dreams.
      Jerry looked doubtful, but he was too polite to say anything contradicting my words. Instead he smiled again and put his gloved hand on top of mine, squeezing my fingers. “You now, Miss Harper; you’ll be whatever it is you make yourself into. Just take care you make yourself into something you’ll want to live with the rest of your life. And don’t forget me—us. The apartment and me…and the pigeons.” His face turned three shades of red and he began polishing his bell with embarrassed vigor.
      Pigeons. Honestly? I turned my back to him, vexed with myself for feeling unsettled, and lifted my chin high. “How could I fail to recall the shabby life I’ve lead till now?” I tossed the words over my left shoulder. “The trouble will be forgetting it.”

-Fly Away Home

Three strangers for you. :)

There is always that moment in the birth of a new story when you realize you've got something on your hands and you haven't an idea what to do with it. I myself am in the process of getting a new plot going. I've got several Scribblings rambling around my head and I think I'll work on them all a little bit. You see, I have found I can write in several strains: Humorous, Children, and Other. Thus, I've got at least one project in each category going right now and I only have to decide what mood I'm in to determine which book I'll work on at the present moment.
But I'm angling for a story right now and I found something that might become my Trout. I will introduce you to several of the characters I have so far:

Bretton Keeptryst:

“By my troth thou art a stiff-necked beast!”  It was a man’s voice spoke the words through the greenwood—a voice laced with humor and luxury. 

-Gloaming's Tryst

Lord Peregrine Rouncewell:

“And what is it that so captures you about the lady Merewald?” Lord Peregrine tossed the question as careless as he threw bone and gristle to the hounds beneath his table, but his whole being leaned forward to catch his companion’s answer.

-Gloaming's Tryst

...and the Lady Merewald Goldehelm

“She runs too much to eyes for my taste,” he said. He pulled his black leather gloves off his hands and tested the tip of his lance. “Stares a man out of countenance with those soul-pools.”

-Gloaming's Tryst

I only know these three right now, and what's even more fun is that I'm not telling you anymore about them yet. You will have to guess. :D

Beautiful People: Lord Blythe Halyard

This Beautiful People is going to be quite interesting because I'm doing it for the sole purpose of finding out about a very new character. Everyone, meet Lord Blythe Halyard--formerly Blythe Bunting of Tillburrow Topham. I know very little about this chap, only that he's not quite cut out for Society life. He thinks he is--oh certainly--but he's not. Deep deep down he's still Blythe Bunting who frequents the Plow & Onion and likes a cozy evening by the fire. Lord Blythe Halyard is young yet--only in his early twenties, and he is delightfully dotty. I know we'll all come to love him by and by.

He looks something like this, only with longer, wavy hair.

1. What is his favorite type of shoe? Shiny riding boots. His never get much of a work-out so they are always shiny, as Blythe is not much of a horseman...yet. He demands that--shinyness, that is. :)

2. Does he journal? Goodness no. At least, not properly. He likes to keep a running tab on people and events in his mind, but it never makes it down on paper. His handwriting isn't good enough.

3. What is his favorite animal? Fried, stewed, boiled, or basted? Christmas Ham, I'll warrant, or else a nice hot pheasant.


4. What does his average day look like? Get up, dither about finding something for the valet to do--anything, only so he'll stop staring at you like that. Take walking cane and amble about the large country-house of your friend. Take the guns out and Shoot. At what? Anything--you're not a very good shot, you know. Eat luncheon. Take a nap or another amble. Linger around the stables discussing horses--a topic you know nothing about. Go in to tea. Try to make small-talk with the ladies. Go into supper. Smoke afterward. Listen to the ladies air their musical accomplishments. Play cards. Go to bed. Repeat.

5. Night Owl or Morning Person? Night owl, I'd say. Lord Blythe Halyard is up for any sort of a reckless night-scheme. He likes the dark--feels less like people are studying him.

6. Does he have a sweet tooth? Mercy, yes. He's very fond of tarts and biscuits and muffins and puddings and everything else. Thank heaven he burns it all off with all the ambling and shooting and what-not.

7. What colours are his bedroom? Honestly? He'd never noticed, though he'd place his tuppence on a burgundy color if hard-pressed for an answer. But then again, Lord Blythe Halyard is always on the move from one country-place to the next so one can't blame him for not noticing the decor.

8. Can he cook? He's rather good at bangers-and-mash, and he can crisp up a nice rasher of bacon. He learned all this, baching it in the old days before the Benevolent One took him up, and he still likes to prowl about Tillburrow Grange at midnight when his housekeeper and all the maids are in bed.

9. What is his favorite household chore? Polishing his boots. There's something soothing about the smells of leather and shoe-polish and the methodical rubbing that stimulates his mind.

10. Favorite kind of tea? Anything so long as the sugar-bowl is at hand and it is a strong brew.

“Lord Harry Mopfloppham and Lady Harry Mopfloppham!” The sepulchral voice oodling down the length of the hall sent a shiver up Lord Halyard’s spine. He assumed the voice belonged to the butler, though goodness knows there was enough bone-and-grave-clothes about it to pass for that of a hobgoblin. And he’d always been of the mind that butlers were comfortable, porridge-y sorts.               -Third Time's the Charm

Full Cast: Anarchy.

There is one problem with character-driven fiction. The problem is one that I imagine every president, king, Sheik, and Tzar would feel: that dilemma of ruling your people. Yes, you must let your characters develop and you can't rule them with an iron-fist--your book would feel stilted. But there is something rather anarchical about character-driven fiction.
Let me start by saying, my books are character-driven. I unashamedly admit it. Perhaps this style was born of an early love for all the great characters in literature: Anne Shirley, the Pevensies, Sara Crewe, Hans Brinker, the Moffats, and so many more. This love was followed up by a self-inflicted crash course in Dickens who--as we all know--has more characters than anyone knows what to do with. [The beauty in this, of course, is that they all manage to play important roles, but that's for another post.]
I suppose I began on this topic because of my good-humored frustration with all the people in The Scarlet-Gypsy Song. This book is already over 60k words and they will not clam up! :D I am finding more and more characters to follow and though I am keeping the book focused, they will all have their part. It's madness how these book-people simply leap onto the page and demand I do something with them. Would you like to hear a (nearly) exhaustive list of all these sorts? I will pretend that you do, and therefore I introduce the cast of The Scarlet-Gypsy Song. Enjoy.

The Macefields:

Mr. Adoniram Woolcott Macefield--an author

Mrs. Macefield--a nervous invalid

Bertram: a twin

Adelaide: another twin

Charlotte: second first-twin

Darby: second second-twin

Eugenie: third first-twin

Fergus: third second-twin.

~If that was confusing, just say it this way: There are 3 sets of twins. They seem to be a disease with me. ;)~

Men of Gildnoir:

Sir Randolph Fitz-Hughes--clan chieftain and self-styled "prince"

Diccon Quarry (Diccon Wanderlands)--Half-brother of Fitz-Hughes

Crimp--grubby fellow (body and mind) who stylizes himself Diccon's "chum"

Host of Soldiers--unnamed. :)

The former Chief of Gildnoir: Diccon's father--a cruel, unjust, but marvelous warring man.

The former Queen of Gildnoir: Diccon's mother--a bride stolen from her betrothed husband, King Octavian of Scarlettania.

People of Scarlettania:

King Octavian: The king of this realm

Lady Cecelia: The princess of Scarlettania--known to the Macefields as Cecily Woodruff

Lad: the court-jester

Dear-Heart: Lad's daughter--a dwarf-girl, and a chamber-maid

Agnes: Plump, pressing, efficient, petting castle-keeper

Windteeth: The highland pony that falls into Diccon's possession.

Captain Phillip Sparrow: Darby's ideal--a noble, valiant soldier

Peter Quickenhelm: A Benedict Arnold of the blackest dye.

Kingdomers: The fill-in-the-blanks people in the tale who make appearances at banquets, festivals, and the like, and who would make you feel a void if they were left out.

Miscellaneous Characters:

The Scarlet-Gypsy: A beautiful enchantress whose power is still felt through the work of her favorite...

Growlbeard: The favorite--a traitorous, black panther with the ability to change his voice.

Mr. Garrison: The Editor. A very important personage.

Yes. You read that correctly. A full two-dozen characters, each of which has a particular part to play. I make it a rule never to put in a character "just because." I mean, of course you must write a throng, but let at least one of the throng have a distinct face! :)

Some of these characters were not there from the beginning--particularly Phillip Sparrow and Peter Quickenhelm; one I have a growing love for, the other I was glad to surrender to his fate. Sadly, two more of these characters mentioned are slotted to die during The Battle. :'( But it must be done, and I am sure it will be for the best.

It is not easy writing a book driven by characters and keeping it on task. I will have loads of rewriting to do, I know, but I have been keeping rein on these book-people of mine and finally brought the 6 plot threads down to 4 by reconnoitering the various characters and making Alliances. Oh mercy. What a job it is to be an author! :)

Bits Of Laughter. :)

Anne Shirley: "I'm a teacher...I'm a writer...actually, I write books."

Friedrich Bhaer: You know, when first I saw you I thought "ah, she is a writer".
Jo: What made you think so?
[Friedrich indicates her inky fingers]

Beatrix Potter: There's something delicious about writing those first few words of a story. You can never quite tell where they will take you. Mine took me here, where I belong.

Beatrix Potter: Stories don't always end where their authors intended. But there is joy in following them, wherever they take us. 

Katherine Brook: Authors are such kittle kattle. I wouldn't trust your description of any of us. 

~Have a lovely weekend, everyone! :) ~