February’s Out the Door
General Musings
Gather round the fire. A little closer. There you go. You’ve heard the stories. The boogeyman hiding in closets and under beds. Vampires and mummies and werewolves lumbering through the night. You’ve heard of the ghostly hitchhiker, the madwoman in the attic. But this, this is a tale lost–not in time, but under cushions, in yesterday’s pant pockets, and impossibly in the freezer–how the hell did that get there? This is the tale of the motivation goblin.
Crouching beneath the comfy couch, its skin is gray and dry as the dust bunnies it munches on during the lean times, is the motivation goblin. Its face is round, barely containing its wide grin, a mouth filled with thousands of needle teeth. And its eyes are wide and dark as that one corner in the attic that you’ve never cleaned. It lurches from empty deserted place to forgotten neglected place. Now sitting behind the stove, now lounging in dusty strands of an unreachable cobweb. The motivation goblin’s long, thin arms hang at its side like loose threads as it shuffles enormous feet throughout the home to its favorite empty spaces.
It’s hungry.
Though it will feed on lint and crumbs if forced, the motivation goblins hungers for more. Hopes and goals are what it craves. A to-do list it finds hearty like stew, those unchecked boxes filling its belly and warming its papery, gray spirit. It whispers through those cozy, tempting spaces. Sit down, just for a minute. Take a load off, get a snack. You can do it tomorrow, it sings. The day after that. Next week will be fine too. And then it has you. Talons like fishhoks hang from its fingers and toes as it, emerging from its latest haunt, crawls up your arm, little steps barely noticed–the lightest tickle. And after it has slithered up arm, shoulders, neck, it perches atop your head. It hooks you. Needle fangs drink, and drink, and drink, goals and plans and aspirations until you are exhausted. Empty. Listless and unpromising as the garage you keep meaning to clean out. So put on your shoes, grab your keys, and get out the door before the motivation goblin draws you in.
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Anyway. Happy February! I’ve been fighting off the motivation goblin over the last couple of weeks, but the sun has been sporadically out and I have a couple of submission deadlines that I am working toward, both of which are classic goblin repellent.
Craft Concern
When I guest lectured in my friend’s creative writing class in January, the students asked me some great questions that deserve much more attention than I was able to give them in the ten minute Q&A after class. I’m excited to give those questions some focus in my next couple of newsletters. The first question I want to take on is: how do you create three-dimensional characters?
My most recent projects have started thematically–I want to explore the idea of sleep paralysis, insecurity, memory, or self. Usually, the theme takes on a living question that grows, evolves, and shifts throughout the writing process, but it typically remains a one sentence question. The characters come right after. Right now in my writing process–keeping in mind that processes change not only over time but even with different projects–I don’t begin a story by mapping out a character or completing a character outline or a protocol. Those are all really solid ways to get a solid, three-dimensional character, I just haven’t used those strategies in my writing process. Right now, I start with the theme and consider what type of person would be living that theme and asking those questions. Generally, the character has a particular personality trait that speaks to the theme. This could also be a problem, hope or desire that is very strong. I begin with that one anchor for the first pages of the writing process and then as I continue working on the draft, I get to know that character more and more, and the character begins to fill out and develop, often in ways I would never have anticipated.
It is like getting to know someone new through events, adventures, and conversations. After a few conversations, a few interactions, it becomes more and more clear who this person is, what they would do in certain situations, what they would say or not say. The character becomes almost a living entity, eventually guiding me, the writer, on what they should do, say, or think next.
In essence, I say it a lot, but my “why” for writing is to play and explore these worlds and these characters. So much of the way I develop character is by asking them questions as I write. What would you do here? Why would you go there and not there? Who would you trust? What would you say?
More simply put probably: how do you create three-dimensional characters? You get to know them, their background, hopes, wants, dreams, fears. You explore scenes with them and really think about what makes sense for them based on who they are. You go back and change things that aren’t quite right and don’t quite fit. And even though it may not make it into the final product, you write and explore the character with as much depth as possible.
A note about character (setting too, but we’ll get to that later) is that there is a great deal that doesn’t make it into the book. For The Weight of Silver, I have over 100 pages of scraps, character background, scenes, and dialogue that are not in the finished product because that information was important for me to know–I need to know what Morrigan was up to as a teenager and her favorite color, but it’s not pertinent that you know. I like having these scraps for myself so that I don’t have to completely erase things, and it’s also a good reminder for me that understanding my characters is absolutely worth my time even though some information will not be in the final product.