Eccentric Characters: What I Learned from Elaine

This was one of my favorite older blog posts that I had a lot of fun writing because it deals with one of my favorite parts of a story -- crafting eccentric characters.  Yep, I kept the comments too, but I'd love any new input! 

I caught a Seinfeld episode the other day and that explains the title. The gang was at a party where they didn't know anyone and neither Jerry or Elaine were thrilled to be there. The two had a signal of tapping their head to get the other to rescue them from a conversation, but it never worked. So, "poor" Elaine was sitting on the couch while a woman talked and talked in a nasal voice with the phrase "my fiancée" liberally sprinkled throughout. Finally, the quiet Elaine looks at the woman and says in a thick Australian accent, "maybe the dingo ate your baby."   (Click here for the YouTube video of this scene.)

I'm still cracking up, even though I've seen this episode many times. The woman says, "what?" and Elaine repeats her famous line. The woman gives Elaine the "you're crazy" look and walks off. Elaine gives a self satisfied smirk. Mission accomplished.

Now, two things interest me about this. Obviously, I'm amazed at the nerve, but when I think about it, I want to break down what makes this scene so great. How did she pull it off? What could I learn for creating my own outrageous character?

First, there is NO APOLOGY. In no way does Elaine regret her words. She doesn't clasp her hand over her mouth in a "did I say that out loud?" moment. She doesn't run to Jerry and say, "you won't believe what I just did." Nope. What she does is smirk. It was a purposeful tactic. Premeditated, with the eye on the result.

Now, we've all wished to say something like this or at least thought of something outrageous to get us out of a conversation, but it's not likely it would actually happen. Like most people, we suffer through party chatter and nod politely. If, by some stretch of the imagination, the words escaped, there would have to be an excuse.  What kind of excuse would you come up with?  Maybe alcohol loosened inhibitions. Maybe it was "the last straw" kind of thing. (This one gives Elaine a possible excuse, but her fuse was very short!) Or maybe it was as simple as accepting a bet to do something outrageous.

But for a truly outrageous character, this is over thinking. This is giving the character something he/she doesn't have; the embarrassment gene.

Second, there are NO WITNESSES. Elaine did not do this to impress her friends. The only participants were herself and the annoying woman. Okay, granted, the audience - US! - were the witnesses, but her character did what she did for her own amusement. And just as she didn't tell Jerry out of embarrassment, she didn't tell Jerry to brag.

A truly outrageous character follows his/her own agenda.

I'm going to keep these two things in mind for creating outrageous characters. There is something so liberating about writing a character who seems to be lacking the embarrassment gene. And besides, I've always been a little jealous that my son seems to be missing this gene!  Somehow, I get to be the one to face the consequences and that's really not fair.  So I need to create those characters to act on my behalf.

And while I think my hero or heroine might need more reasons/excuses for blurting out "the dingo ate your baby," I'll always aim for a secondary character that can get away with it. I can't say I understand them, but maybe the key is not to over think their motives and jump to the end result. Ask simply if they would do what they do with no apology and no witnesses except the reader.

Do you write outrageous characters? Who are they performing for?

Secondary Characters: The Sidekick

I love secondary characters. The more the merrier. Family, friends, acquaintances. Anonymous crowds and mysterious strangers. Ah hem. This tendency, especially in a romance, can definitely get me in trouble. To state the obvious, the relationship between the hero and heroine is the central concern. Too many distractions, including secondary characters, will dilute the emotional connection the reader feels with the love story. Understanding this, I still find I have many secondary characters. There is no escape. I imagine even if I put the hero and heroine on a deserted island there would be people in their memories and dreams. Instead of trying to avoid secondary characters, I let come who may but try to look at the role they play to enhance the hero or heroine.

For me, the secondary characters seem to initially appear like paper characters in a pop-up book. They are exactly that, cardboard figures whose purpose is known but they're not fully fleshed out. Eventually, I know I need them for tasks large and small. Especially the sidekick. I can't imagine not having one for either my hero or heroine or both.

I think of a sidekick in dueling terms; the hero's second. A true friend. Faithful and loyal, the second has the hero's back. Or the heroine's. Heroines need seconds too. The sidekick might also be comic relief; a needed contrast to a brooding hero. The sidekick can also shine a light on the hero or heroine. Friendship says a lot. It means validation. The hero or heroine must be a true friend to have a true friend. And the love interest of the hero or heroine might need to prove to the sidekick how worthy he or she is of the hero or heroine. This makes for an excellent source of conflict. The sidekick's opinion says a lot that the hero or heroine's own introspection and dialogue might not accomplish.

In my current WIP, I find the sister of the hero a helpful sidekick. Who knows the hero better than his sister? He's the big brother who slayed dragons for her. By showing her belief that the heroine is worthy of her brother's love, I hope it gives a boost to the heroine.

Beyond the characterization, she really come in handy for the plot. Heroine needs to be broken out of a mental hospital? Bring in the sidekick. Need a computer expert? Bring in the sidekick. Yes, she's a useful character to have around! When I delve deeper, the sidekick has a huge purpose.

So does your hero or heroine have a sidekick?

P.S.  Announcements coming up!  Not one but two! 

What is your writer's block?

Status: In revision.   That's become a bit of a catch-all phrase for me that covers everything after the first draft to final edits.  It also feels like I'm:  In renovation.   And we all know if you tear down one wall in a renovation, the dust will settle on the rest of the house.  Even if you've covered everything with drop cloths, somehow the dust will invade the nooks and crannies far from the destruction zone.  By the amount of fallout, you'd think the demolition crew had used explosives to tear down that wall.

After the explosion, even if the "all clear" hasn't been given for further demolition, I really can't resist the temptation to do some feather dusting of a scene I just blew up.  Then I wander through the building's structure looking for signs of fallout from this change.  When I find it, I hesitate with my feather duster in hand.  How severe is the damage?  Can I clean it up?  Should I?  Or do I wave my feather duster like a magic wand and undo the explosion?  I can do that.  Yet another choice is a further explosion.

Secrets and Lies: Forgive Me

How do you feel about the hero or heroine keeping secrets from the other? Or lying?  The romance writer takes a gamble with secrets and lies. She knows that just because a character forgives another character, this is not a guarantee of reader forgiveness.

Generally, I'm instinctively ambivalent to betrayal in both my reading and my writing. I don't want the hero or heroine to break the trust of the other. I simply don't like that sort of conflict in real life so why would I search it out or create it? My patience for misunderstandings is relatively short.  Heck, life is too short!  And, in my writing, I want my hero and heroine to be liked. That's personal as well. If you like my characters, you like me. Why gamble with characteristics or actions that are going to risk that with the reader? After all, there are other conflicts available, either internal or external, and I don't think there has to be a lie or a secret. 

So, as a reader with that ability to see all sides of a situation, the reasoning for the betrayal is weighted heavily with a sense of what is right.  I must be convinced of the validity of the mitigating circumstances.

That's what my rational mind tells me, anyway. But somehow, in both my novels to date, a secret or a lie sneaks in.  Actually, that's not accurate.  It doesn't sneak in, it enters boldly as the only logical option to a human -- aka messy -- situation.  Once I get to know those two imperfect people, it seems almost inevitable that a secret or a lie becomes a possibility real and imperfect people would consider.  Then, it grows as a valid reason for character change for both characters; for the one perpetrating the betrayal and also the one on the receiving end.

When I think about the heart of the matter, this secret or lie evolves out of what one of the main characters wants most. What that has been in both my stories has been the hero's desire to protect the heroine. His method of doing so, whether or not somewhat misguided by his sense of knowing what's best in the long run, has involved a lie or a secret.

So, there it is.  After much soul searching, a betrayal has been reasoned out to be necessary.  We're "on board" for all sorts of  hypothetical "no-no's."  Isn't it amazing what we can justify?  With the proper motivational understanding, we can say...he had to do that because of such and such and some how, it makes sense.

So just how do we define "some how"?  This challenge is not for the faint of heart.  How much betrayal can a reader can stomach,  what is forgivable and is reader sympathy maintained in the midst of a betrayal?  A writer may wonder and worry if the bases were covered.  In my opinion, here are a several possible emotional tools of the trade, so to speak, when delving into the realm of "secrets and lies":

1. Guilt. This one I think is very effective. Guilt implies that the character is aware of doing something wrong. Is it tearing them up inside and are they on the brink of confession? It can be overplayed, of course. Feeling guilty but continuing bad behavior or rationalizing it away too long is risky.
   
2. Intend to Tell. Is it a matter of bad timing? Perhaps the character comes around to the error of his/her ways and the reader sees this.  But, wouldn't you know it, he/she waits a bit too long, and, bam!, the betrayal happens anyway-- the secret is leaked in the worst possible way. It might be an overused ploy, but it's effective because the blame isn't really placed solely on the character.  Good intentions should count for something, right?
   
3. Sacrifice. What is more honorable than a sacrifice; the act of putting another's needs before your own? The downside is that it's possible that the character on the receiving end will feel betrayed by a sacrifice. This could happen if, for example, a heroine doesn't want the hero to sacrifice if it means losing him! But the reader may be sympathetic.
   
4. The"For Their Own Good" clause. Perhaps this is a bit of a God complex. The character knows best. I'm guilty of using this one quite often for my hero. I guess that's part of the package for an alpha hero to believe he is right and he is protecting the heroine with a secret or lie for her own good. Guilt can be smothered and actions rationalized with the For Their Own Good clause. There is a line that can be crossed with this one, and many a villain has walked over it. But when used for good, I can't help get a bit of a gooey feeling that the hero cares so much to take such an active role for what he truly believes is protecting the one he loves.

When it goes wrong.  What is unforgivable? I think the answer to this can be either an absence of the above or perhaps the excess of the above. For me, what it comes down to is if the betrayal leads to character change for the good and if it's not an interchangeable betrayal. Could this scene be plopped down in a different story?  If so, it didn't really seem like a necessary plot that that evolved from the circumstances.  I've heard that advice for love scenes and I think it applies for betrayal as well. In other words, what counts as a forgivable betrayal is different for every person and every character.

What makes betrayals forgivable or unforgivable in your opinion? Do you ever write conflict that in your own life, or reading, you'd shy away from?

Action Scenes

It's Spring Break! Yay! Time to do things like clean house or just watch a movie...
By chance, I happened to re-watch the movie "The Firm" (yes, an early 90's flashback). Besides falling in love with Tom Cruise again, I thought a lot about how the action seemed tailor-made for the characters to be either reactive or proactive to their circumstances and, interestingly, how one form followed the other. First, the character has something happen to him/her. It isn't planned by the character, but rather the character is either being manipulated by others or falls into some sort of "being in the wrong place at the wrong time" experience. Then, in a relatively short span of time that cuts across all the ordinary, the tide changes. Most characters who seemed to merely come along for the ride will grapple for control of the circumstances forced upon them to become proactive characters.
In many ways, as I watched "The Firm," I thought, these characters who change are exactly the sort I want to write. Sure, it's not a perfect movie -- is anything perfect outside of the writer's imagination? -- but it's a great example of how an action movie compacts time and is very selective with "screen time" for the characters to get the action to play out with the most effect. So, looking for what works, let's dissect it a bit...
I love it when a plan comes together! - Hannibal from "The A Team

In "The Firm," Tom Cruise's character Mitch puts an incredible plan together to outsmart both the corrupt law firm and the government agents that are pulling his strings like a puppet. In doing so, the character becomes larger than life, transforming from a flawed, ordinary man with only two option written in stone -- to be a pawn to the corrupt Firm or a pawn to the government -- to being the hero who regains his personal honor with decisions of his own making.

This journey for the hero is very appealing. Like Cruise's character, Mitch, I tend to write heroes who don't really believe in accidents. Sure, things happen outside of their control, but eventually they turn the tables. It's just in his DNA or something. The heroine is like this to a lesser degree, but takes a bit longer. However, when a character grows, he or she can and likely should experience both types of action; the reactive and proactive types.

This kind of build-up to action takes planning. The back story of a character makes it understandable why a character would remain, for a while, in a reactive stage. Mitch had believable (to me anyway) motivations with a past of poverty and a brother in prison that, in turn, made the good life of the Firm his dream come true. He logically put the blinders on to the signs of the Firm's corruption and, for a time, gave in to the temptation to ignore his conscience. His mentor, Avery (Gene Hackman), the slick partner who recruited him, is also not a two-dimensional villain, but an older version of what Mitch could become. With this back story, we see Mitch's internal struggle to decide what's morally important to him and believe why it's not an easy decision. And, wondering when Mitch will take control and what will push him too far is part of the suspense.

It seems each character has a certain amount of time where they can only react. How long? For each character it can be different and requires different amounts of set-up for the scene to work.
For instance, shortly after we are introduced to Holly Hunter's character, the quirky secretary, she witnesses her boss getting gunned down by the bad guys as she hides under the desk. This is a frightening, but reactive scene for the character and might have been the last we'd seen of her. But she becomes very important and takes future proactive risks. Later, when one of the things she does is take undercover pictures of the very same bad guy she'd witnessed kill her boss, I immediately thought, wow, that took guts.
This reactive type of action scene as the first introduction to a character, including secondary characters, comes with certain the advantages. Judgments can be minimized in a fast pace and the believability in this type of action's circumstance is perhaps not as strong a requirement. There is a possibility, or a window of opportunity, here for less back story necessary to understand the action scene unfolding. These characters momentarily have a clean slate and they didn't go looking for the trouble the writer threw at them. Hopefully, the reader will feel they deserve our sympathy, and later, the reactive information imparted can be important back story for when the character becomes proactive.
Likewise, in the role of Mitch's wife, Abby, we see her reacting but not being proactive in scenes early on, such as when Mitch tells her their home is bugged. Truthfully, there isn't much of a connection with her character until she becomes proactive, at the risk of her personal safety, by being a crucial diversion in Mitch's plan. However, and this seemed a big point for me, the wife's earlier reactive character allowed me to give enough distance their marriage to, if not forgive, than at least accept Mitch's act of infidelity.
Eventually, both the hero and heroine both become the initiators of the action. How they get to that point, is what makes the action in the resolution unfold like a roller coaster. It's that moment when success or failure isn't guaranteed, but their decisions have been made, mistakes atoned for, and we believe the characters deserve to be rewarded.

When it comes to the action, I love the pace both types, whether circumstances seem to drop the character in a situation outside their control or where the characters knowingly risk their personal safety with a well thought out goal. And while there are differences between writing action for a novel or writing a screen play, action movies remind me visually about how much reality is exchanged for pace. Action is the fun part of movies --fast paced, spontaneous, unpredictable. Characters doing larger-than-life heroics. Hopefully, with just the right choices of screen time worthy scenes, writing the action can be just as fun.

Do you enjoy writing action scenes? Do your characters have a mix of reacting and being proactive to the action?

Who am I?: Villain or Hero?

Below, just for fun, I put together a little "Who Am I?" quiz in honor of the villain and hero. It's inspired -- loosely -- by quotes from acclaimed playwright Arthur Miller's essay "Tragedy and the Common Man," 1949.

Btw, this essay came to my attention as required reading for my theatre class. I highly recommend reading, or re-reading if you've done so, the entire essay (it's short) -- with or without your romance writer hat on for perspective. As the title implies, it analyzes how tragedy isn't just a high concept for kings and classical literature but something we can all relate to. In fact, tragedy is optimistic -- perhaps, as Miller points out, even more so than comedy. Give it a read and judge for yourself. :)

My quiz, however, is purely creative license and veers off the point of the essay to delve into the mind of our villains and heroes. In some ways, however, the points Miller makes of identifying with the "common man" and a "hero" I think can also be made to the villain/hero dynamic.

Okay, the quiz. Ready? Which is the best answer?

Number 1. His (hero or villain's) "tragic flaw" is often:

The inherent unwillingness to remain passive in the face of what he conceives to be a challenge to his dignity, his image of rightful status.

A. Hero

B. Villain

C. Both A and B.

D. A politician.

Number 2. Best describes?:

The need of a man to wholly realize himself is the only fixed star.

A. Hero

B. Villain

C. Both A and B.

D. An actor.

Lastly, number 3.

[He has] a total compulsion to evaluate himself justly.

A. Hero

B. Villain

C. Both A and B.

D. A saint.

***

What's your judgement call? Hero? Villain? Both? The answer to all, in my opinion, is C. I could be wrong, but I made the rules so I choose to declare C the best suited winner. (That's how I believe professors think sometimes..."best suited in my opinion." *LOL*) Even for #3. The word "justly" may have fooled you into choosing hero, but no, a villain also evaluates or, to use an alternative word, judges himself. He rationalizes his opinion to be just, perhaps saintlike, based on his belief he's the "fixed star," around which the cosmos revolves. Of course, others (meaning other characters, readers, and the author) may judge his opinion is questionable or injust.

I'm not telling you anything new, I realize. We often hear about making the villain redeemable or for giving the hero flaws. We also strive to make them three-dimentional, not two. But, just as Arthur Miller's essay suggests kings and commoners are equally capable of identifying with tragedy, "in no way is the common man debarred from such thoughts and actions" then it is likewise helpful to reflect on how, at the core, the villain and hero compare.

Perhaps only then can we determine how easily they can switch hats from white to black or create realistic turning points. Villan or hero? Or a commoner who fights both sides of his/her nature?

Can I have one too?

Okay, so a short and sweet lesson today.

The situation: My eight-year-old son attending a birthday party of a classmate and me running to the store to get a last-minute present.

You know what happened? Well, I did so good on my present selection that I got a toy my son loves...and he has to give it away. It's a tough life lesson! I suspected this would happen and I got an extra little present for both my son and the birthday boy- - a yo-yo. One red and one green so he could choose which to keep and which to give away. That worked for a few minutes. Then he tried it and gave up on after a few tries. His eye was always on the big prize. Nothing too extravagant, but it had Star Wars on the box and it was a heck of a lot better than what he had -- that frustrating yo-yo. (Can't blame him. That yo-yo frustrated me too.)

He was very brave though. And that gave me a mommy moment of all kinds of mixed emotions. Pride in his generosity and sympathy for his dilemma. Life's just not fair sometimes. (Okay, you know I'll fold and get him the Star Trek toy very soon.)

But this is one of those moments when I think...I can use this for a character. It's not so difficult to imagine and it doesn't get a lot easier when we're adults actually. Someone wants something and has to give it away. It's a selfless act with no mommy to fix it or offer a replacement. To see someone else get what we want and either accept it or....what? What do you do? There are lots and lots of possibilities.

"Speak English, please..."

So, as a Biology major late to the game, I'm a newbie when it comes to scientific jargen. Do the words have to be so long? Yeah, they do. They do mean something. But unless you know "the code" or the "secret handshake" (or alternatively, attempt years of study in doorstopper worthy textbooks) it all sounds very foreign. But, like suddenly understanding a smattering of Spanish, I got a thrill when I actually understood two out of three words spoken by the forensic scientist on a detective show.

There I was, watching Inspector Lewis on PBS and half-listening. Then, amazingly, I heard that snippet of scientific jargen that sounded two-thirds familiar.

Forensic scientist: It's a linear polymer "something."
Detective Lewis: Speak English, please.
Forensic scientist: Corn starch.

Da da da dum.

Well, it was supposed to be a da da da dum moment anyway. Truthfully, I have no idea what big revelation corn starch had to do with anything plot related. I should have been paying attention. *sigh*

This brought up several thoughts, including my attention deficit disorder. But first, I had that little thrill. Wow. I almost knew what the brainy scientist was talking about. Two-thirds anyway. Me...little old me...recognized a corn starch by its scientific description. I should almost get my geek club card or something.

Okay, back to earth. It's strange, but that thrill of knowlege isn't supposed to be there. In a blink of an eye, that dialogue serves a few purposes, but it wasn't meant to be understood. One character knew the lingo as comfortably as English while the other needs clarification..."speak English, please." What is the purpose? Authenticity perhaps? Humanizing the great detective by showing he's "just like us" and doesn't know everything? All possibilities. Granted, the significance of the clue (the corn starch) was also important. (Oh, I did mention I didn't get that, right?)

But did it matter? Yes and no. As a viewer, I still enjoyed the performance of the mystery even if I flat-out missed some of the clues. I shrug it off though. In the end, I'm satisfied. In fact, in what I've missed I have additional admiration for the cleverness of the characters. They are, indeed, smarter and more observant than I am. That's okay. They're supposed to be.

As a writer, this is the intimidating part. I must know the details. Even the snippets of brilliance of secondary characters. It has to make sense and be factual. Who knows, afterall, who might catch my mistakes? My goodness! (*starts to hyperventilate at this new thought*) As my creations, must I be as smart as ALL my characters? For that matter, is it even possible to write a character who is smarter than myself? (*confused now, contemplating this paradox*) That isn't possible is it?

Wait! I'm not throwing in the towel just yet. Inspector Lewis didn't get an inferiority complex, right? No, he just asks, "speak English, please." I suspect there's a clue here for how a writer goes about presenting brilliance.

Sure, the brilliant character still has to be given the right lines, but maybe there's a sort of writerly trick to pulling off the essence of brilliance. For instance, I think, as in real life, it's possible to brush shoulders with brilliant characters. Not total immersion, but as an outsider might overhear or encounter. The main character is our guide. Inspector Lewis, highly intelligent in a practical sort of way, is our guide. He needs to request, "speak English, please." Translate. We learn as he learns. In the same episode, he also learns about a historical legend of buried treasure on an English estate. This is from a woman at the University who wrote her doctorate on the subject. (There is also some flirting and Inspector Lewis gets a date. Cagey devil.)

The point is, the main character surrounds himself with experts. He doesn't know, but finds out. Just the same, when we do research, we can present this information through, indeed, characters smarter than ourselves but filtered through the lead character. And the information imparted is brief and serves many other purposes. So, maybe there's no need to panic. Some day readers will also be thinking your characters are smarter and more observant than they are. They might even associate the characters' cleverness with you, the author. (If they only knew! Shhh.)

As for getting that observation part down, well that's another problem...(What the heck was so important about the corn starch, anyway? Never mind.)

Do you write characters smarter than you? :)

How does it feel to be "fill-in-the-blank"?

An odd question, I admit. It's a form of that stand-by reporter's question of "how did it feel when (fill in either disaster or an extraordinary/celebrated event) happened?" I think we've all rolled our eyes at that question for many reasons. Most eye-rolling is about how the answer seems too obvious. It can seem like "lazy reporting." It also can seem insensitive or catch people off guard; there's too much to say to express big emotions with few words in too little time.

Like yesterday in theatre class, a bright-eyed eighteen-year-old turned around from a couple rows in front to ask me and another forty-something person I sat with (a close friend, btw), "so, how does it feel to be an older student?"

It did take us back a bit. Was our age so obvious? My friend and I later speculated about this and blamed each other for drawing attention. I said it's his fault - - what do you expect when you don't dye your gray hair? "Your roots are showing, too," he snapped back. True, they are. (Yes, we are close friends -- *ah, hem* old high school friends, in fact, from that by-gone era known as the 80's.)

I think I responded to the question with some lame "different priorities" stuff (ever notice how the most important things always sound lame in short answer?), and my friend gave a direct "it sucks" answer. He didn't mean that. Not really. But both of us had a lot of "background" in our answers that couldn't be summed up in a one-minute, on-the-spot answer. My friend's background I knew was a sleepless night spent at a hospital when one of his kids had an asthma attack. Yes, different priorities and responsibilities that don't get translated in "it sucks." Our actual answers to the question, in fact, probably left the poor girl convinced the "older generation" (anyone over 30) are just strange. LOL

But it occurs to me that this "how does it feel" question has a lot of use for character development in writing. What might you learn if you ask your character a "how does it feel" question that seems:

• too obvious to ask;
• puts them off guard;
• also could be insensitive;
• too complicated - consider the "short answer" to a stranger and the "background"

Be specific. Be insensitive. Ask the hard question you wonder how a reporter gets the nerve up to ask a stranger and then be the empathetic friend to your character. What hard "how does it feel" questions would you ask?

The Flavors of Conflict

Choices. Choices. Have you ever been so inundated with choices on a menu, like the array of ice cream options or coffee variations for instance, that you just give up and say "vanilla" or "just black " please? It's just too much. Sometimes I think that way about conflict. With so many options, how do I choose? Or maybe, the first step is going back to the basics of "vanilla," but with the understanding that vanilla doesn't mean boring, but pure and basic.  The options of what can be added to it are endless.

Take the exam essay topic I have for an American Lit class: how traditional forms of support, such as family, religion or community, don’t work for a character any more and cause a character to feel alienated.

Essentially, this is a method the writer uses to create conflict. The menu is varied, but a basic "vanilla" flavor of conflict is "loss of a traditional form of support." It almost guarantee some form of conflict. Too vanilla? Remember, not boring, but a pure base to add the right flavors.

For my essay I have to use examples from various works and I found it amazing how the "flavor" is built on the basic concept of this conflict; the loss of traditional forms of support. It can even be a perceived loss of support brought about by a change in the character.

In the short story "The Second Choice" by Theodore Dreiser, the feeling of alienation in the main character, Shirley, is influenced by her attraction to an outsider. This outsider, Arthur, "arrived with a sense of something different" and set in motion a change in Shirley's perception of her world that she must deal with after he leaves. In reality, her world hadn't changed. Her job at the drug store is the same. The houses on her street are not only the same, but painfully identical:

There was Mrs. Kessel in her kitchen getting her dinner as usual, just as her own mother was now, and Mr. Kessel out on the front porch in his shirt-sleeves reading the evening paper. Beyond was Mr. Pollard in his yard, cutting the grass. All along Bethune Street were such houses and such people -- simple commonplace souls all -- clerks, managers, fairly successful craftsmen, like her father and Barton, excellent in their own way but not like Arthur the beloved, the lost - - and here was she, perforce, or by decision of necessity soon to be one of them.

Her world is held in comparison to the "glorious interlude" she shared with the outsider and her contentment in the familiar routines is lost; her community identified distantly as "such houses" and "such people." Additionally, this is how she now perceives the hobbies and social events she had enjoyed "before Arthur":

That was another thing Arthur had done - - broken up her interest in these old store and neighborhood parties and a banjo and mandolin club to which she had once belonged. They had all seemed so pleasing and amusing in the old days - - but now - -. . .

Shirley now sees her world through Arthur's eyes, and the sameness and routine is something to be endured. While Arthur has left to explore the broader world, she is now an outsider trapped in a limiting social context of the turn of the century.  She's deeply aware the only option is marriage - - especially, if, as a subtly alluded possibility, Shirley is indeed pregnant. And even if she resumes the course of her former life, the loss of her support system by her changed perceptions reduces all aspects of her life to a "second choice."

I think you could take almost any story and find ways the character has lost traditional forms of support and/or feels alienated.  Many of these stories also use the arrival of an "outsider."  Do you think your story has a loss of a support system and/or a character feeling alienated?

Happy Endings: An Epiphany Too Late?

I'm still in a "happily ever after" drought as I continue my foray into literature (via an American Lit college course) and I can't wait to read some "literature" with a happy ending (I know they do happen, I just haven't read any yet).

Oh, why does it have to all end in tragedy? Did Winterbourne in DAISY MILLER: A STUDY (Henry James) have to be so entrenched in his social context as an upper class American in European high society that he couldn't appreciate Daisy's free spirit? Did he have to realize he'd lost a chance of happiness only after she had died of malaria? Did he have to have his epiphany too late?

Doesn't your romance loving heart ache? Where's the rainbow? Sometimes, I can't wait. I have the tendency to imagine different choices for characters who would be much happier, in the end, if they only made different choices.

But I see that there are a series of choices and a journey of character change needed for a believable happy ending. Believe me, if there had been a happy ending, with Winterbourne accepting Daisy at the end it would have been unsatisfactory. Fresh in my mind would be his uncomplimentary thoughts and words. To his aunt:

"It is very true," Winterbourne pursued, "that Daisy and her mama have not yet risen to that stage of - - what shall I call it? - - of culture, at which the idea of catching a count or a marchese begins. I believe that they are intellectually incapable of that conception."

A very, very unlikely hero. Even with his epiphany, if he had not undergone some serious character changes to make him worthy, a romance reader, would of course hate him for his lack of compassion and not wish for Daisy to be with such a character.

But could, I wonder, a romance writer redeem a "spineless snob" into a deserving hero? Oh, I can't help but see the ways...and they involve a lot of suffering - - not just a little - - but a lot on his part. This would include some begging for forgiveness and proving himself worthy once he realized how wrong he'd been. Yes, I'm a blood thirsty romance writer! But, oh, if it's pulled off...the reward could be great.

Really, modern genre romance is very special. Said another way, it is, in fact, a specialty. It seeks and delivers a deeper understanding of literature's universal truths:

The best literature is about the old universal truths, such as love, honor, pride, compassion and sacrifice. -- William Faulkner

But for genre romance, there is the added element of redemption. We don't want perfect characters, but we want characters to be redeemed and worthy of the happily ever after.

Meanwhile, as I wait for a happy ending (when I'm not imagining my own), I'm discovering a deeper appreciation of the timelessness of these universal truths. I almost think the difference in genre romance may be in how the romance writer examines these universal truths and follows up with using her specialty to transform the character's epiphany into a believable happy ending.

Have you read romances where the character has an epiphany too late for a believable happy ending? Can you imagine Winterbourne or another unlikely hero becoming redeemed?

Don't Rush It...

My work in progress is getting some rearranging in the middle. I've been realizing that the heroine is not angry...yet. The hero hasn't spilled the beans on what makes her angry...yet.

What I'm discovering is there is more to be added before I get to these emotions. As there should be! My word count is pitiful and my muse has been fickle. It's been a hard thing to remember that writing while uninspired will still result in building blocks created. I've forced myself to write and discovered some scenes to bridge the gap.

Padding a scene is one thing, but there's only so much padding that can be done when emotions jump. There is still a big, missing chunk. How do the hero and heroine get from grief to anger? I've really had to think about how the emotions would transition. Imagine you've been reunited with someone you've loved and lost. How much emotion would you suppress after the initial relief? Would you walk on eggshells for a while? Would you try to maintain a status quo? Is there even room for humor and happiness in between the grief and anger?

That's where my hero and heroine are emotionally in the middle phase of the book. Before the plot begins to roll along to solving the big mystery, they need a time out. The danger can't be forgotten, but it needs to be held at bay. (A restraining order literally came to mind!) In the interim, the hero and heroine have an interlude. A brief period of time when they deal with the status quo of their new reality.

It's quite fun, actually, in a dark humor sort of way. The hero is a ghost, so imagine the adjustment for the heroine. Does she have a need to treat him like he's real? Does she hold the door open? Does she cringe if someone sits where he's sitting? Does she have to tell him to 'shut up' when he's interrupting her conversations with 'real' people? How does a 'real' person react and how does she cover? (This gets tricky!) It's an opportunity for humorous situations but with tension of both internal and external conflicts lingering. What would she do to maintain the status quo of this new reality?

So, I have a big chunk of middle transition. Then, the status quo is shattered.

Do you have a status quo in your middle? Have you tried to rush things?