WHAT IF I WAS THE CHARACTER?

I went through so many emotions when writing these two books, it made me step back and wonder "what if I really was this character?" This woman who progresses from terrified teen in A DREAM LOST to a talented woman in charge of herself, determined to get even for what happened to her, in THE DEVIL'S DUE. How would I have weathered the situations I placed Jen in?

Let's start at the beginning.

Somehow we think about horrible experiences as being what happens to other people...not us. But, when you are in the head of a character you've placed in peril, in my opinion, you have to feel what they feel to make them three dimensional. I don't know of a reader who likes learning about cardboard characters. Like an actress or actor, sometimes you have to think about things that happened to you to get in touch with how the character would be affected.

Someone once told me that reactions are strange things. You see someone trip, then fall. Inexplicably, you start to giggle. Why? Not because you thought it was funny, but because you are relieved it didn't happen to you. Think about that? Have you ever done it or something similar? I remember seeing a crash on the freeway and feeling almost giddy...it was their car, not mine.

So how you would really feel if you woke up in a strange room, couldn't move and realized that you were bound hand and foot. Couldn't call out because of the gag cutting into your mouth. Heart pounding, what do you do?

When I'd reached, oh probably the eighth or ninth draft...remember, I worked on this over a very long period of time...I read that first chapter aloud in a writer's group. One of the members said, "It's a good beginning. It grabs you, but you've got it wrong. I was kidnapped and one of the first things I did was move my fingers and toes to make sure they were there. Sounds strange, but it's what I did. I think she should do that somewhere in the first chapter, trying to get a grip on reality. Where is she? Why? Is everything in tact, or has she been hurt? Let the reader feel her terror."

Another member said, "I don't think she'd think in full sentences. Try short bursts. I think that's what I would do in that situation. Hell, I can't picture having the reasoning power to construct perfect sentences when panic is setting in."

I took their suggestions and went back to the drawing board again. Now A DREAM LOST starts like this:

CHAPTER 1

A door slamming makes one jump, but it doesn't make one afraid. What one fears is the serpent that crawls underneath it. Collette, Cheri


CHICAGO, NOVEMBER, 1956.
I didn’t care if I ever opened my eyes again. Had it really been a year? A whole year of forcing myself to go on? Images raced through my mind like the pictures in one of those flip books—the kind that look like they’re moving when the pages are fanned.

As each new image appeared, my feeling of terror built. They sped up, swirling faster and faster.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

Soon the sheet was drenched with perspiration. A non-stop string of panicked thoughts taunted me. Can’t breathe. Arms, legs. Hurt. Move, move. Paralyzed? Please God, not polio. Relax. Breathe. Nightmare. Where’s Mama? Work early? Breathe. Breathe. Judy still here?

Shout!

I tried to cry out, but my tongue slid around something wedged in my mouth, while hot tears welled in my eyes.

Concentrate!

I fixed on bits of dust clinging to a leafy design pressed into the plaster ceiling, thinking they looked like furry caterpillars ready to spin cocoons.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. Not my ceiling! Not my room!

Well, that gives you a little taste of what's to come. The next post will discuss how I moved on from there.

---Arliss Adams
COMING IN 2010
A DREAM LOST
THE DEVIL'S DUE

IN THE COOL OF THE NIGHT

Whoopee!! The air conditioning is fixed and I'm almost back to myself. It's amazing how trying to work in a very hot house drains the spirit and the energy to a point where you can barely function. I've gotten so much done since wonderful Daniel, a repairman who actually knows what he's doing, restored my air conditioning and my sanity along with it.

Okay, so we're clicking along on the final draft of THE DEVIL'S DUE. I was talking to my writer's group the other night about what it feels like to finally know that the effort of fourteen years will be in print next year. Why, having the AC fixed almost feels as good. Not quite...but almost.

Everything has to have a bit of a benefit. The next time I'm writing about someone sweltering, or hopping mad, I'll think about last week.

I've had to slow down to posting once a week because there are so many things in various stages of completion, I finally acknowledged that I need a schedule. I admit I sometimes picture myself as Wonder Woman, but even those magic bracelets don't give you an extra three or four hours in a day.

Next time I'll talk about writing very emotional scenes and the difference between writing them in third person vs. first person. Until then,

---Arliss Adams

IS IT HOT ENOUGH FOR YOU?

This time I'm not going to write about writing! Today's post is about frustration--frustration with lack of quality control, knowledgable service people and heat. Heat was my trigger, I guess. The upstairs air conditioning has been out of order for days now. Every time the serviceman comes, he says, "Okay. It's fixed." Then five minutes later, the beast quits working again.

In some places it might be tolerable, but not when the temperature outside is hitting 105 and higher, and it's 85 upstairs where my office is located. That tends to make my temper flare. So, today's mechanical meltdown was the last straw and I hit the wall.

This was call number three, because calls one and two...well, I guess the fact that number three was necessary sort of explains it. Anyway, this time I told him I thought it might be the thermostat, because although it's set at seventy-six, nothing happens. Nothing but watching the temperature climb, and climb and finally hit the mid-eighties, while I slowly degenerate into a limp puddle.

He went into a long explanation of the fact that this thermostat model is programmable and it shows a program, which he was sure was the problem. Even though I told him I tried to reprogram it and it wouldn't take, then changed the batteries twice and hadn't had this problem in the seven years I've been in this house, he insisted it was the program and was ready to leave.

That's when I got mad. I told him to try to reprogram it. No--he couldn't do that, because his company didn't want people getting mad at him if the programming was wrong. We went around and around, with me trying to point out that even if the elusive cause of the problem was this program that suddenly popped up...one that hadn't been there before...it had to be something else. I insisted that if he would only look at it he could see that every period showed that it was programmed in the seventies, but the unit wouldn't come on. He started to leave.

That's when I lost it and demanded that he wipe out whatever was programmed. I must have appeared manic, because he consented to try, and guess what? When he tried to reprogram it, he couldn't. He said what I'd been trying to tell him during the entire service call: there must be something wrong with the thermostat. He grudgingly installed a new one, insisting that should take care of it. And, it did. For all of five minutes after he left. Then the fan stopped again. Sorry...did I mention that his first two service calls involved the fan?

Okay, I flipped the breaker and the fan came on again. For another five minutes or so. Then it went off. About half an hour later it came on again just as I was on the phone with the contractor, about to raise hell. Instead, I told them I would watch it. And I did...for another five minutes, when it went off again, right after I hung up on them.

Have you ever wanted to just scream to get rid of the mounting frustration? When I called back, I insisted that they send someone else. I was told that the problem was, the senior tech was very busy. I wasn't surprised. He must be straightening out everything the other guy did. The operator suggested that if I was in a hurry, they would send the same man tomorrow. I flatly refused and was able to get an appointment two days from now.

Here's my question. What ever happened to sending someone who knew enough about air conditioning to properly check to make sure things are working? Where is that guy who knows how to find out what the problem is? I see more and more of this in so many service fields, and I'm beginning to feel that the old tradesman who knew what he was doing may be moving toward extinction.

But maybe I'll feel better when the temp is back down to a liveable level. Do you suppose they might actually send a repairman who has a clue about how to keep the air conditioning running for more than five minutes? If so, I need for him to perform his magic.

Until then, I think I'll go sit on a cake of ice.

--Arliss Adams

AND THE BEAT GOES ON

Still moving along on the third round of editing THE DEVIL'S DUE. Of course, that's only the third round of this journey. Over the past fourteen years, this section has been chopped, diced, expanded, tweaked and just about everything you can do to a manuscript. And yet, there is still more.

My editing buddy jokingly says he's saving stuff for rounds 4 and 5, but I don't have the heart to tell him 4and 5 belong to my publisher's editor. He's has become a DEVIL'S DUE junkie...must edit--must edit--must--....

One of the things I'm finding at this stage, with only a few chapters left to go, is that I've really come to appreciate Jen's growth and the fact that she found the strength to go on. I've been a survivor all of my life, but the things she faces are daunting. I've dealt with situations that seemed like everything had gone to hell in a handbasket and wound up on my feet, but she's rebounded so many times she's like that blow-up clown with the weighted bottom.

Still, through all of her ordeals, I've strived to show that she has inner strength. She just has to get in touch with it. And, I've made sure that good mixes with the bad, just as it has in my own life. When it seems like things can't get any worse, sometimes they do, but then there's some little ray of sunshine. Even if it's barely visible, that what you must embrace and build upon.

Jen has people in her life that help guide her along the way, but she also has those who would love to see her fail, or those that use her for their own gain. This is the tapestry of life. We've all been there whether it's in big or small doses.

That's it for today.

--Arliss Adams

THE BENEFIT OF BELONGING TO A WRITERS' GROUP

While I'm on the subject of Jen, I think this is a good time to talk about the benefits a writer can enjoy from belonging to a good writers' group. I belong to several, but the first one I joined, and still belong to has proven invaluable.

We occasionally get speakers, but more often the program is devoted to critiques by the members present. Four or five readers can read for fifteen minutes at each meeting by signing up at least a day before the meeting...generally you allow more lead time, because the list can grow very quickly and must be limited to no more than six.

A couple of years ago, when I read the scene with Jen coming out of a drug-induced sleep while she was being held captive, one of the members was very helpful. He commented that I'd described something more like coming out of a high on LSD, not being shot up with drugs to control a young girl who had been kidnapped.

Later he took me off to a side, after the meeting, and said that years before he'd done many kinds of drugs and was speaking from experience. Then he gave me something extremely valuable that allowed me to write a convincing scene.

He asked if I'd ever had surgery that required being put under, and I said "yes". Then he said, "Well try to remember how you felt when the anesthetic began to wear off. That would be more what your character would be experiencing. She wouldn't be hallucinating or on a trip.

As I rewrote the part I realized he was so right. The next time I read for critique, I read the rewrite. He said, "Now you've got it right. Now anyone who's been there will believe she really was drugged to control her."

That reading produced another unexpected critique from personal experience. One of the members said, "You describe her confusion when she realized she wasn't in her own bed. Here's what you don't know. I do. I was kidnapped."

Wow. You can't just say, "Hey, I need to speak to someone who was kidnapped and woke up bound and gagged, " then expect to get people who will tell you what it was like. That's information that could be pretty hard to get.

This woman proceeded to tell me that she found herself taking inventory...fingers, toes, what could move, what couldn't, things like that. And, once again, I rewrote what was happening to Jen, who was Katherine at the time, so that it also had a ring of reality from the point of view of someone who had been there.

Reader interest depends upon creating characters that the reader cares about...not one-dimensional cardboard cutouts. Writer's groups are great for feedback, and I also learned to start asking around. Now if I have a question about what something would be like, besides internet research, I talk to people to see if I can find someone who went through it. Then, like an actress, I prepare for the part and feel it as I write.

--ARLISS ADAMS

THE DEVELOPMENT OF JEN CONNOR

It's been so many years since I put the first chapters on paper, I don't even remember the last name I used, but the first name was Shawn...and that was my first mistake. The story opens in the late 1950's, and the name Shawn would not have been a typical name, particularly for a family of limited means.

Yet, Shawn was a name I liked and until someone pointed out how unlikely it was that she would be named that, I didn't even realize I'd made a mistake. At first I was defensive, as many writers are about their babies. The fact that I'd written published magazine articles didn't count, because in those cases I dealt with fact. This was fiction, and my protagonist could have any name I chose to give her. I liked Shawn, and hung on to it with a vengeance until I realized I had to let go and pick one that was more appropriate.

So the quest for a name began. Through the years she has had many: Katherine, Marie, Susan, Sandra, and more. It would change every few years along with the title and names of many of the other characters. Finally, last year I hit upon Jeanette, Jen or Jenny for short, and it stuck. The name was right.

One of the other problems with the original Shawn, Marie, Katherine, or...pick whichever one you want...was that her voice was not right for a girl of sixteen. And it stayed the same throughout the book even though the story spanned many years...years that saw her mature from a scared, abused teen to a confident young mother. Again, I didn't even realize that I'd given her the wrong voice, until I joined a writers group. One of the early questions during a reading for critique was: "How old is she supposed to be?" When I said, "Sixteen," the whole group agreed that she didn't sound anything like a sixteen year old.

This is where you have to put yourself in your character's head and take on their characteristics. Depending upon the story, once you are your character, it can become a very emotional experience in a book that is filled with triumphs and tragedies.

More about Jen tomorrow.

ARLISS ADAMS

WHERE DID THE WEEK GO?

My goodness. In only twenty minutes it will be Saturday. Where did the time go? It seems like it was Monday a day or so ago. It's been one of those weeks when a lot was accomplished, and nothing was accomplished. One day fully wasted, trying to figure out what was going on with AOL, only to discover that once again they made a change without really letting subscribers know. Oh well, all's well that ends well, but they stole one of my days.

When I was writing the first draft of what was then "Dance Ballerina Dance," (now A DREAM LOST and THE DEVIL'S DUE) I didn't worry about the internet. It was around 1995, and e-mail was still something most people didn't have. The fax was the big thing. Right about that time, I was pulling together the pieces of a puzzle that would eventually become my first attempt at fiction.

I had the story of the kidnapped ballerina, I had some of what happened to her afterwards, but there were so many directions it could go. I just didn't know which fork in the road to follow. Finally I decided that I would use those first bits as the nucleus of the story. From there it could go anywhere my mind wanted it to, unlike writing magazine articles about specific things. I wouldn't have to adhere to the truth. I could create places, people, scenes, obstacles, triumphs and all of the other elements that make up a good fiction novel.

The problem was I'd never written fiction. I was an avid reader, but all of the nuances that I should have picked up from wonderful writers, skipped right past me. Oh, was I ever off base. First of all I thought it had to be big in order to sell it to an agent or publisher. How does 600 pages sound? Ridiculous for a first time fiction author--that's how it sounds to me now. But that was then. Use an outline, a time line, plotting sheets? Why? Just start to write. Let those creative juices flow.

Anyone reading this who is a seasoned writer, probably senses big problems on the horizon right about now. But did I know I was starting down a fourteen year road? You bet I didn't. "Probably knock it out in six months or so."--that's what I told myself, and told myself and told myself as months turned into years.

Over the next several posts, I'll talk about how Shawn (can't even remember the last name I gave her) became Jen Connor. And, how very much I learned from Jen.

That's it for tonight.

--Arliss Adams