Character Deaths: Revealing Great Lessons

by paul lasaine, found on tumblr

Character deaths are common place.  We, as readers and as customers (when it comes to film/tv media) expect to lose a character we have come to love.  Does it still shock us?  Make us reach for the box of tissues?  Yes.  Absolutely.  But gone are the days when we know that the main character will pull through, that in the end, goodness conquers all.  I suppose this is a great revelation about the state of our society, but I also suppose that such a analysis would take me a good 40+ pages.  What we can state briefly is that we expect to have our heart ripped out and stomped on… and we love it.  I’m not even saying I’m any different, so I’ll amend it by saying: I love it. 

A fairytale ending where the protagonist survives and everything is wrapped up in a pretty package is no longer necessary.  We have come to a place where we expect that there will be consequences and death in a story with high stakes like Divergent, Hunger Games, Game of Thrones, Maze Runner, Star Wars, Star Trek, etc.  It makes sense that death is a part of the story.  But we’ve also come to the realization that though we cannot always have our fairytale endings, we can have a satisfying, complete and even uplifting ending even when our favorite character dies. 

If that makes us jaded, then I am glad that we are.  Death comes with life, as I had one of my characters tell another. 

As a writer, death is never just a passing glance.  I think I can firmly say that as writers, we stare at the page for a long time before we ever write a death scene.  We become just as attached as the readers.  The difference is that we cannot be sentimental.  Sometimes a character has to go to further the story and make it stronger; that’s how I always approach ending a character.  If it is just my own desire to irk out some tears, then it isn’t necessary and that character gets to live.  If it is to further the story and it becomes necessary?  Then I sit with some good ol’ fashioned ‘crying’ music and I write it and walk away, just like I do when I read a character death.  I mourn and move on.  I cope.

Fiction can reveal great lessons.  It can reveal what love is, what heartbreak means, what courage it takes, what fear cripples and what death means.  And we can figure it all out in the safety of a good chair and warm blanket.  It makes us think.  I won’t sit here and pretend that when the real thing happens, it isn’t vastly bigger than fiction because it is… all I’ll say is that fiction can teach us. 

Character deaths can teach us and affect us.  We even crave it because we want human experience that this heart wrenching is part of it.  So we write it.  

How To Kill A Character

I don't know.

Simple as that. I've not a clue how to kill a character and make you, the reader, feel any sympathy. 

While we're on that score, what if sympathy isn't what I'm after? Suppose I wish you to cheer at the death of my antagonist? Or perhaps my protagonist? What happens if you despise my narrator, and s/he dies? 

I do not know.

You see, in my current novel, nobody dies. Nobody needs to. The story centers on what it means to live the life you have already, to live it more fully even; while jousting with death seems an insatiable temptation, I discovered rather quickly this set of characters do not, in any capacity, understand death. Indeed, the only two characters who do--one lives his life without abandon while the other enjoys her bubble-wrapped existence. Yet both suffer from an intangible, indescribable emptiness which they seek to fill in completely separate ways.

But...

My next novel, which takes place in the afterlife, centers on death. Duh, right? Truthfully, I'm a little worried how things might turn out because it's been a few years since I killed a character and never successfully. That's okay, though.

I'm a writer. I can handle this.

It's that time of year: Resolutions!

It’s that time of year: the dreaded New Year’s Resolutions.  I can hear the groans now.  So why do we do it?  Do we do it out of some weird sense of responsibility to the celebrations of the new year?  Do we do it because we actually believe it’s a good thing?  Or because everyone else is doing it?  Well, regardless why we do it, we just do and I’m here to say that I think that no matter why we do it, it’s a good thing.  It gives us a goal to work toward, even if we forget about it two weeks after we made it.

I like to keep away from the typical resolutions of ‘losing weight,’ ‘eating right,’ etc.  Those are all great resolutions but I don’t need a resolution at the start of January to remember to keep myself healthy.  If you do, that’s wonderful.  Go for it!  I’m here to cheer you on.  For me, I like to keep it simple, and I like to keep it in the educational/bucket list vein.  So here it is: my list!

1.  A new recipe each week and review it on my blog.  I did this two years ago to great success.  I blogged until July when shows took over my life, but I kept up with the recipe gig and it was great.  I learned a new skill and had fun doing it.  I ate healthier and it was challenging.  I want to do it again.
2.  Learn to ride a horse.  I adore horses.  Supposedly, the word ‘horse’ was my first word.  I read anything and everything about horses as a child…but did I ride?  Nope.  I want to now.
3.  Learn to sing…. Passably.  I will never hope to have a beautiful voice, but to learn to sing passably would be nice… and probably necessary for my career.
4.  Finish the current book, sell it, and write another.
5.  Do what excites me, not what society tells me should excite me.

That’s it.  I keep it small.  I keep it within reason and then I end with a motto.  Cheesy?  Yep.  Does it work for me?  Yep.  So what are your resolutions?  Do they excite you?  They should excite you.

Bible Bashing

Bible Bashing

"You shall not lie with a male
as one lies with a female; it is
an abomination." the pastor
says shoving a bible in Taylor’s
face.

They dug their claws into his
sweater. Dragging him into
the streets, his face meeting
the pavement.

Pray the gay away,
that’s what they say.

Blood pools in his mouth,
their pounding fists are
relentless.

An angel has gained his wings.

But it’s alright,
it’s okay.
Pray their sins away.
Hate the sin,
love the sinner.

They just rid the world

of another faggot,

right?

Things to Resolve in 2015

I feel like being loquacious, so bear with me. Below I will list a few things I intend to resolve in the upcoming year as well as explain why, which you will read (or not).

Read. Read. Read.
Every year I'd like to read as many books as possible. This year, I did not read as many as I'd have liked; this year, I struggled to read. I am rather proud of some of my choices: Fault Line by C. Desir, Coaltown Jesus by Ron Koertge, Each Kindness by Jacqueline Woodson, Mr. Tiger Goes Wild by Peter Brown, and Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith. A lot of picture books this year, not many novels. A couple re-reads: The Magician's Nephew by C.S. Lewis and Dream Boy by Jim Grimsley.

My goal for 2015: Devour 2014 YA books. Read ALL A.S. King novels. Dive into more British YA a la Marcus Sedgwick and Nick Lane. Pick my way through adult mystery reads--a new genre to explore, as always.

Write another novel. Maybe two.
This year I wrote one novel. I'm good with that, as it was a damn fine book. I learned a great deal about my process this year, a great deal about what I'm capable of as a storyteller. There are places I'd like to go, stories I'd like to tell. But my biggest contribution to the world of young adult and, latterly, children's literature will be a wide berth of truly diverse characters through a soiree of stories. My current novel, the one I wrote this year and am hoping to submit next year (more on that later), is straight-up contemporary realism. My next YA project will be more structured: what I like to call a dystopic crime trilogy. Playing with genre-bending (or subgenre-bending, as it were) has long been a dream of mine--this is my chance! Also, I'm dipping my toes into the realm of middle grade/children's literature. A big, fat portal fantasy is in order; it's been cooking for a few years, now it's time to stir and serve.

My goal for 2015: Write the first book of the dystopic crime trilogy. Write (or begin writing) the middle grade standalone portal fantasy.

Submit Adam's Book.
The book I'm working to complete will be ready for submission by March 2015. That is my deadline, that is when agents will be receiving queries in their inbox. I'm ecstatic! We'll see how things shakedown from there.

Land a major role in Summer 2015 Croswell Opera House Show.
This may seem nebulous. Impossible, maybe. But I have grown so much as a performer over 2014; I feel my former strength returning. I can land a major role in any of the shows for which I choose to audition this summer. Research is required. Vocal work--lessons even--are required. The groundwork has been laid, though. So let's do this!

___________

Those are my goals for 2015. What about you? Comments welcome.

Winter Poetry: A Little Bit Frozen

I was substitute teaching the other day when the students had an assignment to write a “Found” poem from The Canterbury Tales.  Essentially, that meant that they had a text to pull phrases from and form a poem, about anything.  I just sat there while they worked (they were a good, good class who just delved right in) and thought: wouldn’t that be a fun thing to tackle?  And then I started talking to Anthony here about writing a “Found” poem and what I would do it with… from there, an idea was born.  What if I used the lyrics from Frozen to write my winter poem for this week?  What kind of challenge that would be!  So below is my efforts and it isn’t perfect.  It isn’t even my best work, but it was an interesting experiment and that’s what art is all about.


Hold On and Let It Go

For years I've roamed these empty halls
And it's nothing like I've ever known before
People are asking where you've been
I never see you anymore
They say have courage and I'm trying to

My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around
It's gets a little lonely, all these empty rooms
Not a footprint to be seen
It's funny how some distance
Makes everything seem small
When life gets rough,
I like to hold on to my dream

And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
Conceal, don't feel, put on a show
Make one wrong move and everyone will know
A chance to change my lonely world
A kingdom of isolation,
And it looks like I'm the queen.

I think some company is overdue
I've started talking to the pictures on the walls
But sometimes I like to close my eyes
Turn away and slam the door!
Let the storm rage on,
The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside
Be the good girl you always have to be

It's agony to wait
But for the first time in forever
At least I've got a chance

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight
The cold never bothered me anyway
We only have each other, it's just you and me
And I know it is totally crazy
To dream I'd find romance
Tell the guards to open up the gate

Here I stand
In the light of day
And I'll rise like the break of dawn
I'll be dancing through the night
I'm never going back,
To the pain of the past
We don't have to feel it any more
The past is in the past!
Let it go

all lyrics belong to Disney, Frozen and their creators.  no copyright infringement intended

Primary by Evan Michaels

There you lay,

Brown and warm and bare,

Careless.

You are mine.

Once, I prayed

For you, prayed

For this moment.

This touch.

You are not my first, though

You are primary.

Before you

Another swept me away.

Pretty blue mohawk,

Sharp, pale shoulder blades,

He kissed with his teeth rather than with

His smoky lips.

But he was my first;

Him I cannot shake.

You, Adam.

He still wasn't

You.

Ericka told me

How she fed you that lie

About how she

Split from me.

Truth is,

That morning I woke

To the rhythm of

His hands, his tongue, his control--

It dawned on me.

I told her the truth, even

How I liked him

Sucking my dick.

How I liked him

Better than I liked

Her.

When Ericka lied,

She did not know

About me loving you,

Nobody did.

But she did not lie

To protect herself;

She only lied to spare you

From seeing me

The way I saw myself.

I am Grendel who sleeps

With Beowulf's blade

Down my throat.

I know

You know

How much

I love you.

This Christmas, though,

I have to be honest

And

Tell you my truth.

You are not my first.

You are my primary.

You are mine.

A Real Christmas Soldier

Gerald couldn't believe it was already Grishmas. The snow outside covering his Agurbub home-world of Farrengar was beautiful and pure. It's fluffy whiteness enchanted him as he waited for his mother to come out with his winter clothes. His family had gone to Temple today where his grandfather had given them to him. He'd been so excited he wore them straight through the service.
Now his whole family was getting ready for their dinner and there was time for Gerald to go sledding with friends. His mother finally came out with his things ready and waiting. He jumped into them, carefully buttoning every button and cinching every strap. When all was said and done, his mother only had to straighten a few things. "Roger! Frank! Come look at you're little soldier!" She said straightening with a huge grin. Gerald stood at his best attention while his father and grandfather ambled in the room. "Oh!" His grandfather said picking him up and swinging him around, "My little Commandant! Are you off to go fight the good fight and sled the good sled?" Gerald nodded "That's my little Commandant."
"Have I ever told you about what it means to be a real soldier?" He asked sitting in an ancient chair in the living room. He had a million times but Gerald loved to hear so he shook his head no as he sat cross legged on the floor. "You little luger, I know I have." But he chuckled and continued anyway, "When I was apart of the glorious Agurbub army, with the rank of Commandant under my belt," He winked at Gerald, "I was placed in charge of the 3rd Infantry Battalion. The toughest bunch of men you ever saw, but lacking in discipline of all kinds. I turned them into real soldiers by teaching them the edicts of what a true soldier is. A soldier is a man, not a mouse. A soldier is a thinker, not a thrall.  A soldier is a protector, not a perpetrator. A soldier is giving not greedy. Finally, a soldier is kind, not cruel." Gerald mouthed the tenets from memory along as his grandfather said them. "Go, my little Commandant. Have fun."
Gerald sprinted his way all the way across town towing his sled behind him. He moved faster than he ever had before, urged on by his grandfather and his new boots. He had made it almost all the way to the park when he saw them. He had taken the back shortcut through an alley when he saw four boys huddled in a corner. Three were standing over the fourth. Gerald slowed to a halt. He saw the boy on the ground was a Fluben in very old and tattered snow clothes. his nose was bleeding and he was breathing hard. The three boys around him were laughing. They were Agurbubs from two grades above Gerald. Gerald was scared and began to keep walking, thinking it'll handle itself, when his Grandfather's voice broke his thoughts. "A soldier is a man, not a mouse." Gerald turned. "Hey." He said as powerfully as he could. It came out a sort of loud squeak. The three boys stopped and turned to look at him. "What do YOU want?" The biggest one said getting up into Gerald's face, towering over him. "Leave him alone." The older boy laughed, "Just leave US alone, loser." He turned back to his cronies. Gerald almost left when he remembered, "A soldier is a thinker, not a thrall." Gerald said again, with more power, "Leave him alone!" The three turned to look at him, glanced at each other and advanced. The beat Gerald up in a prompt, business-like fashion. They then returned to torment their original target. Gerald was wheezing as he saw his blood color the snow.He could only see out of two of his eyes. He unsteadily gained his footing as he stood. "A soldier is a protector, not a perpetrator." His Grandfather whispered. Gerald glanced at his sled and picked it up and slowly moved toward the largest boy. The three were so distracted they didn't notice the small Agurbub come up from behind until, "Hey, you!" The biggest boy turned around as Gerald brought the sled crashing down on his head, snapping it in two. The other two saw their leader passed out in the snow and decided to beat a hasty retreat. Gerald was still wheezing as he watched them scatter and run. He then glanced at the Fluben in the snow. His feet were in rags and his coat in tatters. Gerald remembered, "A soldier is giving, not greedy." He promptly removed his coat and boots. "Take these," He said, "They're a lot warmer than yours I bet." The Fluben took them carefully and put them on as best he could. Gerald helped and at the end, they were way to big, but the boy was warm. The Fluben then gave Gerald a huge hug. He returned it as he remembered, "A soldier is kind, not cruel." They then waved goodbye and Gerald began the walk home, coatless, shoeless, and sledless.
After the long trek, he arrived at his door a little before dark and walked inside. He entered the kitchen where his mother saw him and performed a double-take. "ROGER! FRANK!" She went over to her son and began to fuss with him and was soon joined by his father and grandfather. They were all asking what happened and when they finally slowed down, Gerald told them. As he finished he said, "I got really scared a few times but then I remembered what a true soldier was Grandpa. A man, not a mouse. A thinker, not a thrall. A protector, not a perpetrator. Giving, not greedy. Kind, not cruel." His elders stared in stunned silence when his grandfather stood straight up and saluted him in military fashion. He then dropped to his knees and hugged Gerald crying tears and whispered, "My little Commandant..."

Holiday Tales: A Little Late for A Very Important Date

Our little challenge this week: write a 1000 word story centered around the holidays.  In the world of our story, but we couldn't use any character from our story.  Yep.  Not an easy task, at least for some.  I will admit that for me, I had a lot to draw on.  I'm working in fairytales, so there are literally dozens to choose from and I just had to settle on one.

It wasn't an easy choice, but then I heard a song:  Christmas 1915 from the show I'm currently performing in (as well as another member of this group...he sings in it and I cry).  Suddenly, this beautifully sad tale came to life and I wrote.  Below is the story, in a rather un-edited form, but in a way, I like how raw it is like that.  Enjoy.

A Little Late for Christmas by E. Logan

It was Christmas and I should have been on leave, enjoying my time with the love of my life, but I was late.

The bullet socked me in the stomach and I tumbled backward in the field.  I didn’t need to look down at my wound to know how bad I had been hit.  From the beginning of the Troll Wars, I had been a commanding field nurse.  Most of the time, I worked in the field hospitals and I wrote letters on the patients as they came in indicating how bad they were and whether they were worth saving.  I knew what letter I would mark on my own forehead, “M” for mortal.  I wasn’t going to leave this field.

The pain started first, searing and hot and then my body when into overdrive trying to comprehend all the nerves firing off at once.  It was confusing and I wanted to claw at the wound, but it took all of my experience to keep my hands pressed firmly to the wound and nothing more.  Then I began to look around.  There was little else I could do for myself but I wasn’t going to die lying in my own blood looking up at the sky.

I found a soldier, the young man who had been escorting me.  He was hit and lying on the ground.  I dragged myself over to him, screaming a few times with the effort.  As I came up beside him, I swung my pack around and looked him over.  He was in bad condition.  I would have hesitated in the hospitals to label him; he could go either way if he didn’t get treatment in time.  Well, I was here and I was going to start what treatment I could before my time was up.

I had as much pressure as I could on his wound, whispering to him that he was going to make it, when I flagged down a nursing unit.  They started to come to me, seeing my side completely soaked with my own blood, but I shoved them off.  “Him.  I want you to work on him.”  None of them moved, “I am your commanding officer and you will tend to this boy.”  They looked at me a moment longer and snapped to attention, working diligently to stabilize him for the electro-sling that would transport him to the hospital.

As they hauled him into the air, one nurse, a young, red haired girl, stayed behind.  By now, I had little left in me.  As I collapsed back, she dropped to her knees amongst the firing bullets and took my bloody hand in both of her own.  “I’m going to stay with you until the end, alright?  I’m just going to hold your hand.”  She smiled at me and as my body began to truly fail, she sang in a beautiful high soprano.

I started shaking and breathing became a chore but I was determined to watch her young face for as long as possible.  My limbs were like lead and all I could do was lay there.  With some of my last breathes, I dug into myself to find my voice.  “What’s your name?”

Her song stopped and the bullets were soft echoes in my ears.  “Ariel.  I’m stationed with the navy.  They’re drawing on all of us now for the fight.  The man I love is out there.”  She was so childlike and sweet.  “Do you have someone you love?”

I nodded and finally, my eyes left hers to look up at the smoke filled sky.  There were clouds there and blue vastness poking through.  “I do.”  Breathing was hard, so very hard.  My vision was clouding with a milky color and no matter how hard I blinked, it wouldn’t clear.  I couldn’t hear anything around me.  “There’s not time,” I drew my last breath.  “No time to say goodbye.”

The snow touched the gleaming granite.  I stood there but my feet didn’t leave any impression in the new snow.  I didn’t even cast a shadow over his kneeling form.  He placed a poinsettia plant near the name.  Already its leaves were red and he had tied a pretty white ribbon around the planter.  With a shaking hand, I watched him outline the delicately carved letters.  His fingers were tipped with pink from the cold.

Finally, I looked at the name and knew what I had known all along.  Lt. Alice Liddell.  March 1^st 3002 – December 25^th 3024.  Always looking beyond the glass.

I was dead and here was the man I had loved, kneeling in the snow and saying goodbye.  Desperate, I reached out, hoping to graze his shoulder, wipe his hair from his neck, anything.  Nothing happened.

He reached into his pocket to look at his old fashioned timepiece and snapped it closed.  The sound made me jump.  “I’m so sorry, Alice.  I’m so sorry I’m late.  That there’s no time to say hello or goodbye.  I’m just late.”  He pulled the rest of the chain from the watch out of his pocket and laid it gently on the top of my tombstone.  I ran my fingers over it, though I couldn’t feel the warm metal.

I looked at his face, so worn with the toll of the war.  “It’s okay, Mr. Whitehare,” I whispered into the wind knowing he couldn’t hear me.  “You’re here for Christmas and that’s all I ever wanted.”  Slowly, I leaned forward and with a tear rolling down, placed my lips on his cheek in a chaste, sweet kiss.  As I pulled away, he touched the spot I had kissed him.  At first there was shock and then I saw a small, tender, and sorrowful smile come to his lips.

“Merry Christmas, my love, my little Alice.  I’ll be on time next year.”

Y'all need some church up in here.

I get addicted to songs easily. Some people make playlists that go hand in hand with their stories. Some people listen to soundtracks. Some people listen to no music at all. I am in love with Spotify and Youtube. What I can't find on Spotify I can listen to on Youtube.

When I find a song I like I listen to it until I KILL it mentally in my mind. I listen to the song so much that in the end I hate the song. I'm not sure why, maybe it's because I have an addictive drive in my brain passed from my parents to me.

Most recently I came across Take Me to Church by Hozier, it goes great with my short story I'm working on that will be posted here in the future. I don't hate it... yet, but I've only found it a few days ago.

Operation: Kill The Silence

It has to be said that I can write in anything BUT silence.  I can write with a TV going, music in the background, a group of people talking and my two cats running about, all at once.  I love sound and I love atmosphere, so it is no surprise that I turn to a music application like Spotify or Pandora to fill in the silence and write.  For this novel, I have taken to putting ear phones in and drowning out the world, if only to help narrow my focus and keep me from deciding that a couple hours of Pinterest is a good idea. 

My Pandora station for this book is quite the mix.  I have anything from Mumford and Sons, Bastille, Imagine Dragons, Bon Iver, xXx, Hozier, The Lumineers, Adele and Lana Del Ray and whatever else the station recommends.  Do they have some things in common?  Sure.  Do some influence a scene more than others?  Of course.  In fact, this playlist has been instrumental in the tonal quality of many of my favorite scenes that I have written.  I think that’s why so many authors turn to a playlist.

We, as humans, gravitate toward sound.  We might not admit it but our radio station or the music we have playing affects our moods in ways that we are not always aware of and as authors, we have to become aware of.  We have to know that when we put on a song that whatever we are writing will somehow have those tones within it, helping to paint a fuller picture.  That’s why it is so important to chose a writing atmosphere that works with what you’re writing, in my opinion at least.

That said…  I cannot write in silence.  I can do absolutely nothing in silence.  I hate it.  I have written many a poem about it and how horrible and tense I find silence.  Of course I would write with a playlist…if nothing else than to kill the silence.

When in Doubt...Make a Playlist

I'm posting my Spotify playlist here.

The strangest thing about writing to music, for me, is the certain sense of ambience required. Not every book feels the same, which may seem obvious. Generally,  as far as Adam goes, I tried to use songs I thought he'd listen to or else music which put him--his journey, his struggles, his emotional arc--in mind.

When I wrote fantasy, movie soundtracks were perfect. The more bombastic or brassy, the better for battles; reed or string-heavy music I loved for slower, emotional scene work. These days I prefer sensuous instrumentals, a la Eric Whitacre's Water Music, or better soulful, storied vocals. So you'll find Ed Sheeran and Josh Groban and Beyoncé, all of whom have influenced this particular draft. The second draft of this book, for some reason, I wrote to heavy amounts of Boys Like Girls. Tyler Ward's collaboration with Rachel Lampa of Adele's original Someone Like You is a perfect example of the kind of song I needed to flesh out Adam's relationship with Terry. Nick Jonas's Push defines how Evan and Adam view each other; even as their hearts deepen in affection for one another, a definite sexual pull keeps them tied together.

So there's my music. We'll see what happens with the next book.