Overcoming Writer's Block Tip: Know Your Character's Favorite Color

Do you know your character's favorite color?

This question was brought on by that common (perhaps cliche) remark in novels and movies alike. The "but I don't even know your favorite color."

It's the moment we realize that our heroine (or hero) is finally admitting to herself that she is falling in love. It usually comes after she's been through a life-changing experience with the hero, and while the audience has been secretly willing for her to fall in love with him, she is only just coming to that conclusion on her own.

She wants to know him. 

I think it can be easy to do that with our characters too. Writing a story is like going through that life-changing experience with our characters. But we need to hit that point in the story where we say, "but I don't even know your favorite color." Because once you dig deeper into who your character is, and know things about them that your readers never even see, they will become so familiar to you that you'll be able to see why they resist you at every turn.

Think about the people you know best. You can answer questions they haven't even asked yet. You can predict things about them, or buy them that perfect gift. Why? Not because you know their favorite color, but because you love them enough to take the time to be familiar. Each of your characters deserves that, and your story will be richer because of it.

For the Love

I've been thinking a lot lately about why I write. I sit down, at my mobile desk (that's the great thing about laptops--you can take them anywhere your lap is going) and I write. I revise. I write more. I revise more than I write, and I repeat this process. Why?

I can just hear the band strike up the intro of "These are a Few of My Favorite Things".

I love telling stories. I love feeling them develop, plunging into the eyes of my characters, and escaping into the reality of a different world. And I love sharing that journey with others so they can experience it.  

Get Full

Do you ever feel like life is running you? Stupid rhetorical question right? I mean sure, we all do. It's normal right? (I'm on a roll with the questions today!)

I don't think it's supposed to be normal. Maybe I'm in the minority here, but I am a writer, so I tend to fantasize. Still, I think life is supposed to be lived to the fullest. The fullest what? My answer to that would be: potential.

I don't want to wake up in the morning groaning about all that has to be done. I don't want to hit the snooze button just to keep the claws of responsibility at bay for a ... few ... more ... minutes. I want to be able to embrace the potential of my day. I want to look forward to the possibilities. I want to live my life, not be dragged around by it. There will be times that I am going to lose that battle, but at least it's a battle I'm willing to fight. It's about a mindset. It's about seeing the potential and making it kinetic.

Does your life have potential? (of course it does!) Are you making the most of it?

Quote of the week

Dreams are the touchstones of our character.
~ Henry David Thoreau

What are your dreams this year?

Mother May I?

Happy New Year!

I was thinking that since it's a new year, it's time to add a new topic to my blog: Mothering. Yup. I'm ready to share some of life's most embarrassing, and heartwarming moments with the world.

This specific moment happened about a year ago, but it was something I thought so memorable that I needed to write it down that very day. I hope you enjoy it much more than I did...originally.

Yes, this is a true story. 
 

And I am sure there will be sequels, more than I can imagine.
 

It all started with a headache.  No, scratch that, it started because I am a mother now, only mothers get to have this much fun in one action packed morning.  So this morning my almost 15 month old son wakes up about an hour and a half early, and he's screaming.  The only problem is that I have a splitting headache and had a horrible night's sleep.  So, I get up, I take care of my baby and then I climb back into bed with two of my dogs for 'just a few more minutes'--okay an hour--I fell asleep.  

So there I lay with my two dogs flanking me, and the giggles of my son in the next room as he uses his bed for a trampoline.  It is going to be a great day, I can just tell.  Taking my time getting up, I tell my dogs how great they are and scratch their ears and tummies, and I fawn over my 'middle' dog telling him he was in my dream and he listened to everything I said and he's such and angel.  My puppy interrupts the story as he stretches and stands up, but suddenly starts to pee!  On my bed!  In front of me!  

My disbelieving eyes stare at him for the first few seconds, then I'm yelling 'No!  No!' and pushing him off the bed as I rip up the covers to stop the spread of the vile liquid into my mattress.  Thankfully I am able to corral the dog into the crate--but not before he makes a mad dash to the back door telling me he's got to go out--ya think!?  Now I get the soapy water and blot the pee out of my mattress and clean the trickles off the floor, and as I go to strip the rest of the sheets from the bed I set my knee squarely in the two inch by two inch square of soapy liquid--what are the odds?

But my son, he's been playing in his crib now for an hour now and he's got be bored, and I am sure all of his toys are on the floor, so I figure I'll just go in there real quick and put him in his room to play while I take the dogs out.  Oh, his toys are on the floor all right.  And his pants.  And his poopy diaper sans some of the decorative excrement that he has smeared all over his pillow and bedsheets.  Seriously?  

So as I am cleaning up my kid, my puppy still waiting to pee, my bedsheets still balled up on my bed waiting to get cleaned, I call my husband to let him know what happened, and he informs me that the puppy did not pee when he took him out early this morning--really?  

So I get to the part about my son and how he will be wearing those shirts that button at the crotch for the next twenty years until he can learn to keep his pants on, and tell my husband that if he has had a crappier morning than me, I don't believe him.  I can hear that he's trying not to laugh--good man--and he admits that my morning has been crappier by far.  

Thinking I am now clear to take my dogs out, I leave the poop in my son's bed, the urinated on covers still sitting on mine and take the poor dog out, cause you know, he's got to go!
 

They go out, they pee, and I make a big deal about telling the pup how good he is cause, after all I DID yell at him for peeing earlier.  And I feel better, he is a good boy, he just had to pee, and--well let's not go back there.  

So we are going in and he smells something, and I call him and he comes, but he's got the something in his mouth--wanna guess?  It's a dead mouse.  Yes dead.  Yes, in his mouth!  Will he drop it--no.  I am dangling chicken in front of his face, but dead mouse is better.  So I have to actually pull gross mouse out of my dog's mouth!  

So now, I get everyone inside, gross hands, poopy child's room, pee all over my bed, and my day has just started.  After I get my hands washed, I try once again to put my priorities in order, but you would think that I would have learned by now that no matter what I try to do to get things running smoothly again, something is going to change that plan, just look at the laundry list I've already got trailing behind me! 

So I get my kid some cheerios, his face lights up at the sight of the big yellow box and he squeals in delight.  I shake my head as I take the disinfectant to my child's bedroom to wage war against some poop.  I've lost a dog.  My angelic one.  The middle dog, the one that does no wrong.  I stand at the top of the basement stairs calling him, now yelling for him, now screaming his name and no dog!  Mad, (yes, now I'm mad--at the angelic dog) I slam the door thinking, 'great, now when you get that soggy bedding in your hands and have to pry this door open, you're gonna be happy, huh?'  

But wait, there he is, the poor guy got locked behind a baby gate and is waiting for me to find him.  He is an angel after all!  But where was he?  I take down the gate and he comes racing out followed by his muddy paw prints on my cream colored, just steam cleaned carpet!  Oh they lead right back to the tub (because my angel got in the tub.  Why?  Because his paws were dirty!) well now they're dirty and WET!  

So I tell him to get back into the tub, I clean his paws, and now I'm using the disinfectant to clean the mud off my carpet and floor, and as I sit there, one knee soaked in muddy water now and one knee soaked from accidentally blotting soapy pee out of my mattress, and I'm cleaning the muddy bathtub while painted poop and a bundle of pee still wait for me in the bedrooms.

So after my bedsheets are finally in the wash and the line out the door of other soiled linens is behind them waiting for their turn, and my stomach is now rumbling because I missed breakfast (again).  I remember the excitement that my son elicited when he saw the yellow box of cheerios awaiting him and I count my blessings.  

God sure has blessed me.  No, that wasn't sarcastic.  I look at my little family, my beautiful and obviously creative son who is learning to undress himself, my angelic dog, my Tasmanian devil dog that is learning to be an angelic dog, and let's not forget my old dog that didn't even get in my way during all of this (she's mastered the angelic stuff) and a wonderful husband who didn't laugh.  

So, friends, count your blessings today, I hope this made you laugh. 
    

Quote of the week

Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.

~ Gustave Flaubert

The Price of a Wish

“I hate you!”  

 Elain slammed her bedroom door so hard one of the papers taped to the outside came undone and slid halfway under the door.  She was too angry to pick it up.  She heard her mother’s footsteps stop right outside her bedroom.  The paper moved and Elain stepped on it to prevent her mother from picking it up and putting it back on her door.  It was stupid, she knew, but it felt good to be angry, to rebel, to impede her mother from doing something, even if it was something as mundane as picking up one of Elain’s old drawings.

The paper ripped.  Elain heard her mother gasp as she released the paper.

“Elain Marie,” her mother said sternly, “I have had enough of this disrespectful behavior.  You will stay in your room for the rest of the night.”

“Good!”  Elain yelled at the door, but her mother’s footsteps were already growing fainter.  

She picked her foot off the pink construction paper on the floor. It was faded from time spent in the sun, and now crinkled, scuffed and torn, but she recognized it. It was cut in the shape of a heart. She pulled it through the slit between the floor and her door and turned it over. Stick figures in crayon hugged one another, she and her mother. Elain tossed it across her room and watched it flutter to the floor as she walked over to her bed.   

Another drawing was taped to her headboard. It was a picture, of better quality, being more recent, of herself, her sister and her mother all walking home from the ice cream shop, stupid smiles on their faces and ice cream cones in their hands.  

Angrily, Elain ripped the picture down and remembered with a shudder why it had been taped there.  The wooden carving of the stag stared back at her.  Turning her back quickly on the soulful stare of the nightmare-inducing creature her great-grandfather had carved, Elain let herself fall to her mattress; it bounced beneath her as she stared at the ceiling. 

It wasn’t her fault. Her mother was so unfair to be angry with her. It wasn’t like she meant for her sister to fall and scrape her knee. Kyra was always dragging behind. Did she really have to watch her every moment? Because that just wasn’t fair. It’s not like Elian even wanted her to come along, and it was hard enough to get to play with those girls anyway without her little sister having to tag along.   

No, it wasn’t fair for her mother to be mad at her. She should be thanking her for begging to have Kyra invited in the first place!

Now she was grounded from playing with her friends for a whole week!  All because Kyra whined and stomped.   

All that whining worked for her. Her parents loved Kyra more anyway. Well, maybe Elain would run away.  Then they’d be sorry. Then they’d know how much of a help she really was. Then they’d realize how badly they treated her. But she would be gone, and they’d have to live with their misery.

Angry tears streamed down Elain’s face, some drying to her cheeks. She wiped them away and sat up.  That’s just what she was going to do. Later tonight, when they were sleeping, she’d slip out the back and run away. She got up and grabbed her backpack, ridding it of homework, she packed her most needed possessions. Then she tucked her bag under her bed and pretended to sleep.

***

Elain opened her eyes. Moonlight spilled in through her bedroom window and onto her face. She’d fallen asleep! Scrambling to her feet she stopped and listened. Sometimes the old house made strange noises in the night, but this was different. 

Tap, tap, tap.

Elain turned toward the window.  

Tap, tap, tap.

Her eyes grew wide. There was something moving in the moonlight, casting a huge shadow onto her bed.  The shadow of a man. Elain’s bedroom was on the second floor, there was no reasonable explanation for a man to be standing on her windowsill, and yet there was the shadow of one. She rubber her eyes, and to her surprise, the shadow was gone.

Elain walked over to the window and looked out. She saw nothing on the quiet streets below. She opened the window and peered down. The night air was cool, but comfortable, like summer lingering into fall. She looked to the side; the rose of Sharon bush grew to the side of her window, but wasn’t tall enough to cast a shadow. She looked to the other side. The ivy. That had to be what cast the shadow. It must have blown in the breeze over her window and she thought it looked like a man.

Relieved, Elain closed the window and turned back toward her bed. She was wide awake now, time to follow through with her plan to run away. Perhaps she could stay in the garage unnoticed for a time. 

Leaning against the window she looked at her bed, her own shadow spread across the unmade covers, but something strange seemed to be growing from her head! Elain turned to see if the ivy blew in front of her window again, but it didn’t. Looking back, she noticed that the growth was not part of her shadow at all, nor was it even a growth. It was a man. A very small, ugly man.

“Who are you?”  Elain asked, jumping away from the window and her bed.

“Is that how you greet guests? My, what a strange place I’ve come to.”  The little man removed his red cap and scratched his head.

“Guests!  Guests are typically invited.  I don’t recall inviting you.”

“You did. I mean you still wish to go to Runaway, don’t you?”

“Runaway?”

“You certainly are the repetitive type.”  The little man jumped from the bed and walked toward her.  He must have only reached her kneecap in height.

Elain twisted her lips.  “I must be dreaming.”

“It was your wish, to show your family how sorry they would be if you were gone, wasn’t it?”

“I—well I suppose,”

“Then, Toadstool at your service.”

“Toadstool?”

“I thought we were done with that.”

“Done with what?”

“Would you like to come to Runaway or not?” The little man sighed.  “To show your family a thing or two about missing you.” Toadstool leaned on Elain’s backpack and twirled his red cap over his finger.

“How do I get there?”

“Ah!” Toadstool stood straight, snapped his cap on his head and bowed.  “I thought you’d never ask.”  He reached up to grab Elain’s wrist and towed her to the window.  “We’ll be taking a wyvern.  Best way to travel such a distance.”

“I am dreaming.”  Elain said as she stared at the scaled tail dangling in front of her window.  

Toadstool lifted the window with ease and stepped onto the sill.  “Going up?”  He extended his hand.

“But how will I get back?”

Toadstool bowed his head and shook it, and stepped back under the window.  “Those who go to Runaway never wish to go back.”

“Why not?”

“Because they get what they asked for.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“You will.”  Toadstool’s smile was suddenly frightening.

“And what’s that?”

“Your family will see how awful they were to drive you away.  They’ll miss you terribly.”

“Then, I’d want to come back, and tell them I’m all right.”

Toadstool’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and Elain shrank away from him. “I will not be going with you and your wyvern,” she said.

“I think you will.”

“You can’t take me!”

“Yes, I can!” Toadstool reached for her, but a growl resounding behind Elain caused the little man to jump back. 

Elain was afraid to move.

“You cannot take who does not want to be taken, Toadstool.” A voice said softly after the growl had faded.

“She does want—"

The growl cut him off again.  Elain saw a light surrounding her from behind and fear kept her from turning toward it.  Toadstool shied from the light, holding a bony arm up to his eyes.  He skittered back and grabbed the wyvern’s tail.  The beast shrieked as it flew away, the little man clinging to it.

Elain was alone with the creature now.  She turned, slowly, toward it.

It was not what she’d expected at all.  It wasn’t a huge roaring creature like a lion or leopard.  Instead, it was slender, tall and white.  A stag.  To think a frail, peaceful creature was capable of such a growl made Elain shudder. 

“You are wise to have denied his invitation.  There is no returning from Runaway.  The Redcap would have taken your spirit and left your shell of a body for your family.”

“I would have died?” Elain felt a shiver deep in her heart.

The stag nodded and at once Elain recognized its soulful eyes.

“It’s you, isn’t it?  The deer from my bed?”  

“It was good that you uncovered me tonight.  How am I supposed to protect you from your dreams when you keep me hidden?”

“You protect me?”

“Of course, Fawn.  Not all dreams are safe.”

“Neither are all wishes.”