Shuffling off this mortal coil

  

I suppose that's what writers tell their characters. I don't make a habit of offing my creations--at least not the ones who have become interesting and integral to the story. However, we occasionally fall upon times that try the writer's soul, when a beloved or captivating character must become referenced only in the past tense. 

Should the character's demise be played out on stage, or merely reported by messenger number three or via a sad dispatch from the front? I'm in favor of the matter getting stage time, provided that it's meaningful. If I've gone to the trouble of creating a name and backstory and linked the character's tale to the hero or plot, that character deserves a demise worthy of the role. More importantly, beyond what any character deserves, the reader has earned the scene. If the reader has had any chance to get attached to the individual, the reader needs understand that the dissolution fulfilled some purpose, that the sacrifice ennobled the character, revealed a flaw, or that the progression of the story required it. Such matters merit the stage--and should make for great reading.

A major character's expiration demands at least one good scene, if not a series of scenes with a foreshadow, a build up, and terrible climax. A little dialog or soliloquy adds a meaningful touch and can provide closure or resolution to some lingering question--or not. Final words cut short or imbued with ambiguity may provide more questions to be resolved later--and the generation of intriguing questions often drives interest and deeper meaning in the story. Remember the Trauma, the Drama, and the Dream, my three keys to great stories.

Naturally, I now think of a character whose demise did not get a full treatment and think I could've handled it better. On the other hand, I recall some characters who crossed the threshold of immortality and feel a sense of satisfaction with their final scenes even though they will be missed.

 

 

 

I want to talk about some fun characters, but first there's this review by youtube sensation Zach Johnson. A while back I provided him with copies of the first three books of the Tomahawks and Dragon Fire series. In this video, he only shows the first book, but he's talking about the first three.

Yes. Yes. We know this series is fantastic. I would like to discuss some of the characters from the series, and some characters from my other books as well.

Let me start with the first character of my first book. The protagonist from Justice in Season, a western set in  1860's Idaho Territory, was based on an actual person. In fact, many of the events in the book are fictionalized versions of some historical events. The historical figure wrote his own history in which we tend to see him in a positive light only, full of courage and determination. In crafting the fictional character, Victor McBride, I tried to preserve the courage and determination while furnishing him with a new background which also revealed fears and uncertainties. I think he may be all the braver for overcoming the fear and the trouble of his past. Most of the characters in Justice in Season and the sequel Justice Resurgent were fun to imagine and create. Some of them are based on historical persons while others are pure fiction. They were all fictionalized. A couple other favorite and prominent characters are Vaughn, the easy going poet and friend of McBride; and Harmony Rivers, the local singing sensation and object of the evil sheriff's infatuation.

In Threading the Rude Eye, (Book 1 of the Tomahawks and Dragon Fire series) we meet the protagonist Alex as a young man with a fiance and big plans. His plans are on hold until he can complete his indenture. He has a pronounced sense of justice and high hopes for his future. The revolution against empire unexpectedly slops over into his little world, completely altering his future and destroying all for which he had hoped. If not an opposite to McBride, Alex is certainly different. His fears and uncertainties threaten to control him. Unlike McBride who willingly rose to fight against evil, Alex has the fight thrust upon him. Alex's is not so much a story of vengeance as it is one of discovering the right course and committing to that course. His growth through the series isn't entirely linear. Initially, he has a lot to learn and a short time to learn it. At least he has a mentor in Jonathan to help him in the early stages of the adventure. 

Iago and Atu are a couple of interesting characters, and are the first ones we meet in Threading the Rude Eye. Atu is a Pacific islander. His attire consists of a loincloth and a knife, with a total body cover of tattoos. He can be a bit loquacious and speaks like a British lord. Atu is teamed with Iago, the little man from Portugal. Iago doesn't speak. He communicates via a unique sign language which only Atu understands because the language is based upon Atu's tattoos. Iago makes the decisions and Atu provides the muscle. However, they are far from a simple brains and brawn match up. Atu is intelligent, but he defers to the small man for a few reasons--some of which aren't revealed until Book 4 Promise of Carnage and Flame. Iago's limitations and Atu's strengths make them a compatible and sympathetic pair. They are both tenacious and resourceful.

Akira is from Japan, but has become a successful businessman in England. In Threading the Rude Eye, we find him with one party of dragon hunters sent by King George III to procure a dragon. He may be the smallest in stature in the group of dragon hunters, but his size, good business sense, and store of Japanese proverbs are crucial to the survival of the dragon hunters.

We don't encounter Lee until Book 3, Clamorous Harbingers. He is a backwoods guide but his abilities go beyond that of a simple pathfinder. In his possibles bag he carries a bible and Pope's translation of the Iliad, and he can quote from both of them. One reader told me that she thinks he might be a wizard--which is certainly a cool idea which I will neither confirm nor deny.

There are some other characters, like Frode and Njal from Book 4, Promise of Carnage and Flame, that I wanted to talk about. I'll wait and talk about them, as well as the other dragon hunters at a later time.

One of my favorite characters is from my favorite book Smoke. The protagonist in that noir detective novel is Noah Vale, AKA Duncan Kane. A veteran of WWII, he may suffer from what in our day could be diagnosed as PTSD. Perhaps he gives his heart too easily, and he may not be completely honest with himself about that aspect of his character and his relationships, but he is dedicated and diligent--except to keeping his own house. In difficult situations he can always find guidance in one of the paperback novels he carries. 

Are you familiar with any of these characters? What do you like about them? What characters from other books have intrigued you? Let me know in the comments.

Some movies, the best movies, demand an investment not only of time and attention, but of something more, a unique sort of currency, a shaving planed from the heart--all thin, translucent, and curling like a Christmas ribbon--but still attached at one end. If one dips the end of the heart-shaving into the emotional waters of the movie, it becomes a fleshy conduit connecting the viewer with the characters.

I'm not sure I like that analogy (or whatever it is) above, but I am sure that I liked the movie I saw on Saturday about the inspirational tale of three broken men and a broken horse.

Broken by loss and mistreatment, the three men and the horse rally together to overcome long odds to triumph on the track and in life. Seabiscuit came out in 2003, so I'm not very quick on getting a review out, but I wasn't doing the blog back then. When I saw that it was on, I was't going to watch it. I had seen it a few times before. I knew the story. I knew how it ended. I knew that it was a bit of a long gallop from start to end. I image that you know the story, but, just in case, the nutshell version, rendered as blandly as possible, goes like this: Wealthy family loses everything and dumps boy off with a horse racing man. Old horse trainer gets picked up by rich man who has lost his son and whose wife has left him. A small horse with a promising pedigree is mistreated and lives down to expectations, losing races and becoming a cantankerous mess. Men and horse coalesce to form a winning team--with many obstacles along the way. After establishing a winning record out west, they hound the owner of War Admiral until they get a race. There are more complications, but the little underdog prevails. Finally, additional complications arise. Horse and jockey convalesce together and, as underdogs once again, make a miracle comeback.

The overall story is greater than the sum of the parts, and yet, the parts are fabulous. David McCullough's narration and the short, black and white "era" pieces really add to the the atmosphere and illustrate the larger milieu in which the story takes place. The story of Seabiscuit becomes a fanfare for the common man, the triumph of the every man who has had failures and bad breaks in unremitting succession, but who rises to success, to meaning beyond his status. The story will touch you--if you let it. It's like getting smoke in your eyes, but its in the heart.

As for the actors, it is the best thing I've seen Tobey Maguire do. He makes the beaten, angry jockey-mirroring the horse he rides a credible creation. He gets a few nice Shakespearean quotes. Chris Cooper as the trainer Tom Smith oozes patient understanding, long-suffering, and wisdom with occasional wit. He has a number of great lines like, "It's better to break man's leg than to break his heart." Jeff Bridges slips into the role of the owner Charles Howard to give my favorite performance by the actor.

I think the movie works because the writing is superb, and the acting and directing reflect that. I don't think I've ever read the book of the same name upon which the movie is based, but I will read it if I get the chance.

***

Speaking of superb writing. I had some nice experiences with the first book in the sequel trilogy which follows the Tomahawks and Dragon Fire trilogy. First, let me share a couple reviews from two of the books in the trilogy which came in this week:

About Threading the Rude Eye

 Independence Intrigue August 5, 2020

I read this book to my daughters. We loved it. It is a great swashbuckling story of mystery, action and fantasy with a little romance and American revolution thrown in as well. Ready for the continuing saga.

About the second book, Power to Hurt

 Page Turner! (Not to be confused with Will Turner) August 8, 2020

Power to Hurt is book two in an excellent series by the author Stanley Wheeler. Wonderful character and story development that makes you anxious for the next page/chapter/book. The author is a master at historical fiction. Highly recommend!

Back to my points about writing experiences this week. Writing is often a revelatory process. The author is supposed to know what's going to happen -- and I usually do. While the process for me involves roughly mapping out the story in advance, and picturing the ending, most of the stuff that happens between beginning and end springs into being during the actual writing rather than during the planning. Until the words hit the page, I merely see through a glass but darkly.

This week I was faced with a decision about what course a character would take; her decision would be critical to the events of two separate story lines, and she could be in only one of them. Which way would she go? I couldn't decide -- until I reread her actions from an earlier chapter that had not been planned, but which created some interesting possibilities. After reading that, I saw that she had already made the decision. I merely had to write it. The characters know what they need to do. I just have to stay out of their way. Likewise, when a villain made another appearance this week, I had planned for his dramatic and surprising entrance, but when I started writing it the Rule of Awesome suddenly reared its grinning face and rocketed the scene from a 5 to a 9 on the awesome surprise scale. I couldn't believe that that hadn't occurred to me when I had first envisioned it, but it hadn't. Only in the very act of hurling words at the page did the obscuring stone fall away to reveal the true nature of the sculpture beneath.*

Also, daughter's favorite scenes from Clamorous Harbingers: A possible drowning, and an unfortunate brush with cannibalism.

*That's how you mix a metaphor, shaken, not stirred.

James II Stewart, King of Scotland, may be my 13th great grandfather. I'm considering returning to the old country to reclaim the throne. If the records are correct, it would explain many of the impulses I usually refrain from following:
"James broke into a fit of temper and stabbed Douglas 26 times and threw his body out of a window." 

I understand how that could be very satisfying--for James, I mean. I'm pretty sure Douglas enjoyed neither the perforations nor the defenestration--but not being the actual king and all, I'll continue to refrain. It also looks like the link to James II is based on a son I don't see in the official records; perhaps an illegitimate son, a wrong genealogical connection, or a fake person. I'll withhold my claims to the throne at this point.

***
As for writing this week, I passed 42K words, meaning I'm halfway done. I had a sudden impulse (see above) to kill off a character but decided that the death would be meaningless at this point and something short of death would be a great opportunity to add to the development of two characters. The death would have had purpose but the impact upon the reader would have been minimal.

I don't like to kill off characters. I've killed off some in Rude Eye. While those characters had an emotional connection for another character; readers would not have become very invested in them; their deaths were important for how they affected the main character's choices. I killed off a major character in Justice Resurgent because the story called for it--but it wasn't fun to write. 

The good news is that the writing is getting easier as I'm now headed downhill. If I don't have to stop to look up something, I find I'm writing the daily allotment in less than an hour. It's still far from the homestretch but now it's a matter of laying down the scenes in the proper order and leaping from one to the next until the end.  Of course, there will be complications that I have not foreseen.

One fun part of the book is the development of the two magic systems. The major system has been developing from the start. A secondary system is one that I did not foresee when I started the book but it fits in as part of an aspect of a secondary character and has been fun to think about; it's much simpler than the major system in the book but has a lot of potential.

Most of the characters have been hurt in some way at this point--the title is Power to Hurt, so that should be expected.

***
Hank and Brett might wonder:
Could Stretch Armstrong have changed the outcome of Avengers Endgame? 
Would the conclusion of Game of Thrones have been more satisfying if Apollo Creed had danced his way to the throne to the music of James Brown?

I haven't seen either of those so I'm not qualified to speculate, but it makes you wonder.

When patterns collide:*

Mary, Maude, Denise, Sheryl, and Patsy gathered for their first big assignment as undercover fashion police.

*I think I got the picture above from a 2012 French clothing catalog like the rest of the photos that follow, but it's possible that I got it from Lileks.com. I don't remember. (A Google image search indicates as a best guess that the picture comes from a Bosnian TV Series. I doubt it.)

Even in 2012, I think that wearing this coat is a silent plea for help.

A fine selection from the Dork Collection. Apparently they could only get the one guy who was willing to model these outfits.

Costumes from the famous play Lion Dork in Winter.

The Dork in Summer Collection for high water, rain, and pants optional occasions.

Finally, it's the new Dorktor Who look.

And for women -- I'm not sure whether these dresses are to-die-for,

it's selections from the campaign against women, or styles for the victimized. Maybe the models were just tired or lacked the strength to stand--perhaps the dresses are super heavy.

To complete the options for young women's clothing, there's the dress for those times when she just wants to imagine that she's a basketball hoop.

***

In things more banal and of barely passing interest, the new novel has passed the 35K word mark--which is actually below the pace that I had previously set but I have my excuses.. The real point of interest is that in focusing on some development of a lesser character it evolved into a situation that helps develop the main character arc. Professional writers probably plan that kind of stuff. I find those things just leap out at me unexpectedly like the dog that was hiding behind the parked car yesterday at the grocery store.

My favorite quote I heard this week was, "You need to stop being nice to people!" Of course it wasn't directed at me; I was merely in the vicinity. No one ever tells me that kind of thing.

I did think of a parody title to my latest publication: Justice Detergent--the law cleans up. The actual book Justice Resurgent is currently available for only $0.99; and the previous book, Justice in Season, is available for only $1.99 for a limited time. Links are at the top of the page.

Writing, like passing gas, is best pursued in solitude. I've read a lot of the former which closely resembles the latter delivered via keyboard. I digress; that was not my point at all. My point, gaseous though it may be, is that writing can sometimes be a bit lonely. It's one man (or woman) and the barren, desolate arena of the blank page. The seats of the coliseum remain empty. The midday sun blisters the brain with an incessant intensity as the pressure to populate the stands and to create the spectacle drums relentlessly. Who should I invite to the arena? What is the nature of the spectacle? Is it a combat or a performance? Will anyone other than me ever care to read this? Why would they? So, should I bother?

Of course I'll bother. Writing isn't a choice; it's more of an affliction. No. Writing is a joy. Writing fiction is to slip the surly bonds of the mundane to soar on the turbulent yet fickle wind of imagination with characters who become friends--invisible, nonexistent friends, but friends nonetheless. I tried having an invisible friend when I was a child; it didn't work for me; I could never get past the fact that he didn't exist. Even after I gave him a name he was a lousy friend--he wouldn't do squat for me: no chores, no eating my vegetables, no playing with my sister so I wouldn't have to--nothing (Although, maybe I was expecting too much from an invisible nonexistent entity). Eventually, I forgot to pretend that he was there, because he never was. On the other hand, even as child, I do remember making up stories with characters who also didn't exist, but who did adventurous things that I would never get to do; they were much more fun than the invisible kid who never cleaned my room (I thought that he did once, but it turned out to be my mom who cleaned it).

Let me reshape these vapors back to my original point. Writing is a solitary activity for me. The arena frequently grows crowded with characters and fast, furious action; the stands fill with adoring spectators, and I have a great time with the characters in my head as they spill their adventures across the formerly blank page into something short of reality but to which the act of writing gives an aura of permanence. Whether any actual person will ever care what the alternate-reality French girl of my novel says to the dragon huntress, or whether she escapes from the clutches of the cunning and murderous lord of mysterious power remains enigmatic.

The reward at the end of the lonely journey is to have someone read the writing and validate the trek by expressing appreciation or criticism of the work. Of course, once they do make such an expression, I make sure they regret it by trying to talk about the story and characters with them until they have to chase me away by hurling sharp stones and sharper imprecations in my direction. All of which leads, finally, to my purpose, or purposes of my aeriform observations.

First, my wife has finished reading Smoke. She has grown weary of my interrogations. Before she became so fatigued, she did, like all of the other women who have given me feedback on the book, reveal that she liked Pip more than any other character. Surprisingly (to me at least), she also liked Joan more than Monica. Second, I get around waiting for the validation until the end of the journey by asking a few people to read excerpts and tell me what they think. Some actually do. The feedback gives me a tiny shot of excitement to resume the journey with ardor. (Don't ask me who Ardor is or why he or she is on the journey; some guests may have a purpose even if they weren't invited--what's an arena for if nobody gets thrown to the lions?).

Because it's good to get confirmation that you're describing this:

rather than this:

before you get too far into the carpet sample (or gaseous cloud). While each certainly has its purpose, one is a poor substitute for the other.

I judge a competition

"It's the only sport I know of where the coach requires the team to wear makeup," I said. I knew it wasn't proper English, but sometimes I'm a rebel who likes to break the rules. She laughed at that-- the makeup observation, not the rebel thing--and had to agree. 

Saturday, daughter and her team of made up maidens, rouged rogues, painted performers, maquillaged mesdemoiselles--or, more accurately, highly talented and skilled troupe of beautiful young women--put on a spectacular display. To describe the exhibition as "super awesome" would be to damn with faint praise. 

I had never before been to such a competition. It was much more crowded than the wrestling tournaments that I used to attend with some frequency--actually it was with my son, but his name is not "some frequency."

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 Lack of knowledge about the requirements of the competition did not deter me from making my own knowing critique. I first contented myself with counting the number of participants on each team; I would tell my wife how many I had counted each time, and say something about whether I thought that was a small number for a school of that size--she was enthralled with my expertise. The team with the fewest members had 4--just under half of the student body (or bodies) for that school. ("Half of the student body" just seems morbidly wrong, perhaps giving the wrong impression of the nature of the event; it wasn't some CSI competition). The team with the most members had around 22-25 on the floor; about the time I had counted up to 20, they started their routine; it's very difficult to count them when they're racing about the floor, leaping, tumbling, bouncing, and crowding about one another. Often, they would come together like a pack of hounds fighting over a bacon-wrapped feline; suddenly, one of their members would be squirted, cartoon-like, into the air to spin, flip, and otherwise contort (like said bacon-wrapped feline in a frying pan) before landing safely in the arms of the team. (For the record, I am vehemently against the swaddling of cats in sowbelly, or any other pork products...it's a terrible waste of bacon...and very likely to result in a visit to the emergency room...I won't be trying that again).

The uniforms constituted another item on my critique list. Color: Some were too dark; some were too light; only a couple were just right. The teams probably weren't judged on their uniforms, but the color and contrast presented by the parts of the uniforms, and the pom-poms contributed to the spectacle of the presentation...and the visual spectacle was what it was all about for me. Style: I had some extremely detailed criteria in this category: Did I like it? The short version is that I liked some and not others. I could expound on that...but neither of us would be a better person my having done so. So, I won't, other than to say, that it had to do with whether the uniforms looked smart (a technical fashion term, I believe), and if they stayed in place during the routines. 

Finally, I declared myself chief judge of showmanship by critiquing the performances themselves. I judged the visual display, including how well the team appeared to know the routine; how synchronized and precise they were in their movements; how well the bases and fliers got into position; and how well the fliers and bases maintained balance and position as they went through those elevated exhibitions.

One team stood out in all of the categories that I had selected as being critical. (The number of members on the team did not factor into my judging). The actual judges must have agreed with my assessment; my daughter's team finished first in each of the routines it performed. 

You've probably figured out by now that I was attending the combined high school curling and skeet shooting championship. Maybe that wasn't it; it was something much better. Best of all, no one ate Tide pods, or tried to lecture me about the meaning of the Constitution.

It may not have been my idea of an ideal Saturday, sitting on hard benches in cramped crowded conditions, but I got to watch many talented youth perform. Their performances probably won't change the world, but the time and effort that they dedicate to the task certainly changes them for the better--and that does change the world. It was a competition. Not everyone could win. The hot, wet tears of disappointment stained many pretty faces. Tears dry; character abides.