No matter how many beautiful, brilliant words I give her, Melody never fails to say whatever she wants anyway. And it’s not just the her own dialogue she commandeers. She takes over the plot and even the theme.
Seriously. The theme? She can’t even leave me the theme? I think this might be the first time one of my characters actually usurped my theme power. It’s been a wonderful surprise. You see, Melody’s fate is set by her family’s legacy, societal expectations, and men. Her personality, her goals, her actions, even her life philosophy is painted by someone else’s brushstrokes. My original idea for her was to introduce her to this wonderfully flawed hunky hero who opens her mind and heart to the possibilities of choosing differently. The problem is, that’s not what Melody wants. I’ve rewritten chapter one four times and chapter two twice. I quit counting how many replots I’ve done. Melody just would not cooperate. It seems she doesn’t want to be shown a world of possibilities by a hunky hero or anyone else. And when I say hunky, I mean hunky. I modeled this guy after every sexy athlete, every hot nerd, every scruffy-jawed, chiseled-chested underwear model all wrapped up in my sweetheart of manly-man real-life hero. How could she resist? Still, she persisted. Melody is her own woman. She will discover her own path and use her own compass and create her own happiness. Her happily-ever-after is not written by the pen of her family’s legacy, society’s commands. The writing gurus tell us that we must know and communicate our characters’ most ardent desires. All I have to say is that it would have been nice if Melody would have revealed hers to me before I wrote four first chapters and two second chapters. She didn’t, so I finally forced her to create a bucket list. After I wrote ten entries, I thought I was done, but she wasn’t. Her voice whispered one more item--to live free. That’s it. That’s what she wants--to live free. Having a man show her a world of possibilities still forces her to choose from his possibilities. It's this unflinching desire in her that not only makes her a more interesting character than what I had originally created, but also tweaks the theme. True happiness is found not when you find the right soul mate, but when you are true to yourself. At the end of her obligation to live as others would have her live lies her one chance to live free. And so it is with us. So now I’m 10,000 words (but no usable chapters) in and I already know this story is going to be an adventure. If I know Melody at all, I am sure the adventure will be all hers. I’m just happy to be along for the ride. So while I’m off to replot again, I’d like to know what other writers do when their characters take over. There are a million character interviews out there, but none of them helped me understand Melody like the bucket list. GIve it go and see where it leads.
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This morning my local radio station let the listeners vote to decide when they would start playing Christmas music. The Hallmark Movie Channel started showing Christmas movies last week. Facebook is full of posts calling for the start of Christmas season ASAP!
What happened to the loud calls to boycott any store displaying ornaments and wreaths and Santas before Thanksgiving, let alone November 1st? So why are we so ready for Christmas? The answer isn’t that complicated. In 2001, on September 11th, terrorists hijacked four civilian airplanes and crashed them into strategic targets. The killed thousands of Americans. They shattered our naivety. They crushed our trust. They broke our hearts. They cracked our foundation. Not long after, that same local radio station that took the poll this morning, decided to start Christmas music early. With hurricanes wrecking our coastal communities and crazy men shooting concert goers and Isis devotees running down bicyclists, is it any wonder that we once again need healing? Maybe Christmas can have the magic power to heal us. Maybe we’ll remember Ebeneezer Scrooge and the Grinch and Mama kissing Santa Claus and Baby Jesus and understand that love really does conquer all. Longfellow’s famous Christmas hymn tells the story a man in despair who hears the Christmas bells and hangs his head because “there is no peace on earth”. Hate prevails and mocks the idea that love could conquer anything. Longfellow wrote the words when with an empty heart. His wife had recently died from burns sustained in a house fire. Flames had permanently scarred his face, a reminder of his failure to save her. In addition, his beloved America was torn in war. Christmas to him was now meaningless. Yet the man in the hymn listens more closely. Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead, nor does He sleep, For Christ is here; His Spirit near Brings peace on earth, good will to men.” In his wretched sadness, Longfellow found peace. He believed in it. He wrote his belief into the most beautiful hymn so that more than a hundred years later, we could find it, too. So, yes, we are more than ready for Christmas. If it takes holly and mistletoe and Hallmark movies and gingerbread carbs and even those ugly giant inflatables people stake to their yards to remind us that peace is possible, then bring it on. Bring it on through April if you have to. Let’s hope America’s heart grows three sizes. Let’s hope we all shout to the rooftops, “God Bless Us Everyone.” And let’s hope and pray the Christmas spirit does, indeed, last all year. Country Music makes the best heartbreak heroes. I’m old enough to remember the old joke. Do you know what happens when you play a country song backwards? You get your wife back, your truck back, your dog back. While that might have been true once, today’s honky tonk hunks know how to do heartbreak. Not only are the male country music artists hotter than chittlins frying in a skillet, they can croon you into a swoon in less than a verse and a half. These are the songs I’d turn into romance novels if I could only write faster. 6. Garth Brook’s Rodeo: Though it’s not terribly modern (1991), the story sticks with you. “And she’d give half of Texas just to change the way he feels.” If you’ve ever been in love with the right guy at the wrong time, you know exactly how this feels. What’s worse is that the mistress isn’t one she can beat out with a sexier dress or a poutier lip. Not even the love of a good woman can compete with the roar of the Sunday crowd and ropes and reins and the joys and the pains. By the time she gets him, he’ll be old and broken. And so will her heart. 5. Cole Swindell’s Middle of Memory: Thank God the girl in this country song doesn’t fall for this sulking sap. This song makes the list as a vivid example of the kind of guy to run away from. Her friends were right to whisk her away a minute into their first dance. He’s about to lean on in, thinking this coulda, would, shoulda been the night of their lives. He even calls her baby when they’ve known each other for like sixty seconds. The way he mopes alone in the middle of the dance floor waves bright red warning flags. Although he might make the plot line, he’s no hero. 4.Tyler Farr’s Redneck Crazy: Now this is the way to do heartbreak. This guy is crushed, but understandably so. There’s way more history here than a few beats of a good dancing song. There might be red flags here, too, but there’s something bold and exciting about a guy that is brazen enough to shine his headlights into a window he knows her cheating ass is hiding behind and then throw beer cans at both of their shadows. His observation that the new boy toy doesn’t amount to much by the looks of his little truck lets you know this guy is gonna be just fine as soon as he gets his pissed off out of his system. What a great opening scene! 3. Sam Hunt’s Take Your Time: Speaking of bold. You gotta a love a guy who calls a girl out. “You could’ve walked away, but you’re still here. And I’m still here. Come on, let’s just see where it goes.” He doesn’t know her, but he knows enough to see that she’s survived a few punches to the heart. He’s not gonna come on strong or make her love him. (But you know she will.) He just wants her time. A girl could hardly turn that down. Especially with that smile and those dark eyes. 2. Darius Rucker’s If I Told You: If your heart doesn’t melt to this song, I’m not sure you have one. This poor guys wants so much to love her, but he’s afraid he’ll end up screwing it up like always. “Could you love me anyway? Please. Could you love me anyway?” Yes, Darius, yes. We already do. 1. Old Dominion’s Break Up With Him: The best break up song ever! I mean, come on. You smile all the way through the dang thing and you absolutely know there is a happily ever after on the way. “The way you look at me, you can’t pretend. You know you ain’t in love with him. Break up with him.” (And we all sing along.) Break up with him! Click here to enjoy Old Dominion's video. Then go find the perfect song to inspire your perfect hero. I'd love to know what you choose. What the heck is a greeting book? It's my own little way of supporting writers and releasing a bug. Years ago, someone gave me the advice to rid my life of bugs. I already knew to exterminate the roaches and spiders, but that wasn't the bugs my friend meant. She said bugs are those little things that bug us that we choose to put up with--a squeaky door, a non-stick pan that everything sticks to, the chair with the loose leg that you're afraid to let guests sit in. Think about all the bugs we deal with daily. My friend was right. It's a choice to keep them around. At the time, I laughed. None of those irritants are big enough to cause that much stress. Just deal with it and move on, right? Her point was that all those little bugs add up to one big Men In Black mutant that will eat away at our peace in ways we don't even recognize. So, I started exterminating bugs and discovered a Will Smith-esque bad assness. So, how is the Greeting Book a bug killer? In May, I purchased approximately twenty greeting cards. Now, I love a good greeting card. I've been know to pause grocey shopping to check out the card aisle for a good laugh, but trying to find eighteen different graduation cards and the right birthday card and then a few Happy Mother's Day well wishes made me want to "blinky thing" myself. What annoyed me most is that I paid $2 to $5 each, depending on the fanciness, for a folded sheet of cardboard with a few words written on it that I would either attach to a gift or stuff in an envelope with cash. Geesh. For about five bucks, I could buy a whole paperback book. Wiat. That's brilliant. For about five bucks, I could purchase a truly personalized gift and card in one. Plus I would be supporting writers. Plus I would be introducing friends to new authors. Plus I would be sharing my love of reading. By changing from giving the greeting card to blessing folks with the Greet Book, I was killing a bug and spreading love. My mom's birthday was my first chance to give the Greeting Book. I had a blast picking it out, watching her open it, and discussing why I chose Krista Davis's Mission Impawsible for her. The gift keeps giving because I'll check in with her to see how she loves it. So, now my people know to expect a book for every gift giving occasion. In fact, their texting me with suggestions and preferences. If you've been plagued by the greeting card bug, squash it now. Come on over to the Greeting Book side where there are no pests, only words and love.
If we aren't careful, we'll soon be adding another animal to the endagered species list.
The manly man is in jeopardy, and guess what? It's our fault, ladies. Several years ago we started down the man-hatred path. We now blame them for everyvthing from the price of tampons to our need for hair dye. On top of that, we've decided the solution for all the problems they somehow caused is to fix them. And how are we going to fix them? Simple. By making them more like us. For the love of all things glitzy and girly, why on earth would we want them to be more like us? Sorry, ladies, but I like my men manly. Before you get your big girl panties in a wad, let me tell you that my mother raised me to never, never, never live my life in a way that would force me to rely on a man. Also, she was married to one of the most reliable men that ever walked the earth--my dad. He raised me to understand how a real man would treat his lady. So today, as I stood at the exit of the grocery store, watching the torrential rain and hail, I wished my man were with me because I know he would have braved the thunderstorm and pulled the car around for me. Now, did I need him to do that? No. Did I melt when I ran to the car myself? No. I did have to wring out my shoes when I got home, but after they dried, I replaced them on the cool, custom shoe shelf he made me for Christmas. (With his manly man, muscular hands.) I can't help it. I like a man to open a door for me and change the oil in my car and kill spiders. Yes, I can do all of those things myself, and I do. (Well, I hire the oil changed, by a man, because I don't want to do it. It's gross and messy. But, I do check the oil myself, if that counts.) But, it isn't an insult when a guy wants to get manly for his gal. It doesn't mean he thinks she can't do it herself. Think of it as his love language. Sometimes I feel sorry for my son. He's becoming a man in a society that has forgotten what that means. Even worse, they want to punish him for it. If he makes a pass at a girl who isn't interested, he's a creeper. If he's polite and friendly, he's a player. If he isn't, he's a jerk. If he notices a hot bod, he's a pervert. If he doesn't, he's gay. If he bulks up, he's a tool. If he doesn't, he doesn't get a date because girls can be shallow, too. I've always thought that when the man mows the lawn, and I make the meal, I got the better deal. Does that mean that he must mow and I have to cook? No. It means that if he wants to do something manly, let him. It means that I appreciate not only the freshly cut grass, but every single minute he spends in the gym. It means that if I get to enjoy his buff body, why shouldn't I give him something good to look at, too? It means that I love it when he gets the guys together for poker as much as I like wine night with my girlfriends. It means, in fact, that I have plenty of girlfriends, so I don't need him trying to be one of them. It means that I drool over memes of a shirtless Ryan Gosling, so he shouldn't have to not drool over Sofia Vergara's cleavage. And it means that we are hypocrits if we get angry when he does. So, today I call for the preservation of the manly man. Please, don't let him become extinct. I hope I am raising my son to be manly in just the same way my father was, and I don't want him to be alone in the universe. I mean, who would he invite to poker night? The truth is, we need the manly man more than we think we do. And we blame for a lot more than we should. Besides, on a cold, rainy night, at the end of a trying day, I could curl up with my cat and be perfectly happy. But I'd rather curl up with him. And maybe, in the morning, I'll let him make me blueberry pancakes. There is almost nothing sexier than a manly man making breakfast--even if I can do it better. I just watched the most amazing thing. A fifty-two year old man just pushed his was to the end of the American Ninja Warrior extended course. He's on his way to the finals. He's the oldest contestant in the history of American Nina Warriors to make it this far.
As Jon Stewart fought to the end of the course, the announcers gave the play by play. He competed last year, but he tore his calf muscle and couldn't finish. This year, he watched every competitor before him fail. He got to the warped wall--an obstacle he had never been able to pass--and used all three tries to get over it. The announcers reported every bit of fatigue the guy must be feeling. Yet, Jon kept going. He fought his past, his mind, his body, and everyone's expectations, and he just kept going. In the writing world, I've heard over and over again that the ones who succeed are the ones who don't quit. I've heard it said that perserverance can be more important than talent sometimes. (Let's face it. We have all read books that suck.) Yet, sometimes it's so hard to keep going. Why is that? What is so hard about putting butt in chair and hands on keys? What is so hard about spending time doing the exact thing we all say we can't NOT do? I mean, it's not like we are trying to run up a warped wall and we only have three chance to get to the top. We have all the chances we want. We also have no age requirement and no time limit. There is no announcer reminding everyone of our past failures. There isn't a limited number of authors who get to qualify for publication. That prize is waiting for every single one of us who is brave enough to just keep going. So let's be Ninja Writers. Let's just keep going. |
AuthorDee Linn loves words. When she was in the third grade, her exasperated teacher told her she'd probably talk to a pole, if she happen to be sitting beside it. Not much has changed except that now she says it in writing. She is a single mom of four, a teacher of teens, a cheater at board games, and a lover of life. She's a Kansas girl, but travels to all kinds of places in her head with characters living there, some of which she's sure she's created. Some, she's not sure how they got there. But they are way more interesting to talk to than a pole. Archives
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