Bronwyn Campbell, having just completed her junior year of high school, is resigned to accompanying her father on yet another military move. She’s to leave behind another set of “friends” who will forget her. Her past attempts to “fit in” have crashed against a relentless hook-up and substance abuse culture.
When a lightning strike sends her to another time and place, the first person she encounters is the captivating Iain MacDonald. He’s close to her in age but has a wisdom and goodness unlike anything she’s ever encountered. It doesn’t hurt that Iain is the handsomest of all the handsome “Highlander Hunks.” As the story progresses, Bronwyn’s “first world” problems give way to the “real world” realities of war, religious persecution, and “Heelener” clan infighting.
While R&A does a good job of getting inside a young lady’s head, I didn’t care for some of the dated cultural references. (Don’t let my opinion change YOUR mind about reading this book; I’m only one review of many!)
Catholic parents will appreciate that Bronwyn grows in her faith in a realistic way. R&A presents a positive view of the priesthood as well as a positive depiction of family life, even if the MacDonald parents are somewhat idealized. Bronwyn discerns that she wants family life for herself, and her choice will validate young readers who might feel pushed away from prioritizing family life as one’s life work. Parents will appreciate a romance directed towards its intended purpose of marriage without all of the sensuality which slimes its way out of stories aimed at teens.
I can’t vouch for the historical and cultural accuracy as I’ve never made seventeenth century Scotland an object of study, but R&A has the ring of authenticity. Parents hope that quality historical fiction will inspire their children to study history for themselves.
But never mind about appealing to parents. Young readers who like sweet romances should enjoy R&A, especially if they like a story that’s more than just boy-meets-girl. I feel that R&A satisfactorily fills a much-needed void in young adult fiction. It’s faith-filled without being preachy and entertaining without the typical props of sensuality, occult practices, egoism, or any other unfortunate manifestation of fallen human nature.
I received a complimentary copy this book from the publishers. I was not required to provide a positive review. All opinions expressed are mine alone.
If anyone beside the bots is listening, then I’m sure it’ll just MAKE YOUR DAY that the writing engine is undergoing a tune-up and a buff and polish to remove rust and ready itself for use. The engine coughs and smoke billows out from the tail end of a craft that doesn’t seem all that travel worthy. In other words, I think I’ll try a pre-launch book promotion for a small publishing house in addition to listening the dodgy right half of my brain.
Critiquing is a different animal than writing promotions, that’s for sure.
BUT
I still want to write my own stuff!
So why a years long dry spell, when for years before that I was productive?
K. M. Weiland, the writing guide of all writing guides, speaks of dreamzoning, a meditative, slowing down activity from which springs much of her creative work. My own (long unused) process for growing and harvesting ideas certainly bears some similarities to hers.
I’ve been speed-skating on life’s surface, disinclined to engage with the murky creative emotional illogical unproductive part of myself that provides the energy and emotion for anything that’s remotely worth reading. The analytical workhorse part of my brain has had plenty of training. But it’s more difficult for me to engage with imagination and memory and emotion and what I really care about and what really raises my hackles. But as it’s been said, if I don’t care about my stories then who will?
ideas, ideas everywhere, but not a drop of ink!
I thought it was St. Teresa of Avila who said: “the imagination is the madman of the house.” A quick internet search turned up nothing and I still don’t know who said that or when. But my madman has been walled off and buried even deeper than the unfortunate guy who got walled in with the cask of Amontillado. I need to unearth the abused neglected madman and let him speak. I just never seem to find a chance to remove my skates. So to speak.
So, for now, this blog will serve as a platform for book launches. I can appreciate what someone has had to do to put a book together and I am happy to be of service.
Over and Out from the Coronavirus Round Two Recovery Ward!
“If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.” G.K. Chesterton
My novel (fourth draft) has been reviewed, and (sigh) it still needs lots of work. (sigh again) Multiple rewrites are par for the course for professional writers, so I can’t expect anything less. I’m an engineer by profession, not a writer, so muddled word soup simmering in mumbo jumbo is to be expected. (sigh x3)
I should have known a plot with a dual timeline and a non-assertive, unlikable main character was beyond my skill set. I’ve got lots of story ideas, but this is the one I want to see published, challenges and all. Eventually, I’ll revisit the feedback, tear down the whole thing, and rewrite it, but right now, I need a hug.
Well, I DON’T need a hug. So there!
Prepping
Warning. Flagrant Christianity ahead. Today is Easter Sunday so that’s my excuse.
Life is short. Death, the ultimate SHTF scenario, will happen. Since the afterlife is beyond the reach of science, who can tell us how to prepare for it? Don’t you want a secure, comfortable bug-out place in the afterlife for yourself and your loved ones?
Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead and ruler of the kings of the earth. To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood, who has made us into a kingdom, priests for his God and Father, to him be glory and power forever and ever. Amen (Rev 1:5-6)
Fitness
Here I pant, atop that plateau that I reach every time I lose about twenty-five pounds. This time, I’m determined to maintain the weight loss. No more yo-yo dieting for me. This time, I’ll push past the plateau. If I shake up the exercise routine, will that help?
Two days ago I found a “gentle, low-impact, and sent with love and kind thoughts to the over fifty crowd” exercise video on YouTube. Two days later, I’m still feeling muscles that I didn’t know I possessed. I’m not injured, just sore! Like my novel, my anatomy needs work, and I’ve yet to reach fifty. How lovely, I’d lose if I tangled with someone’s grandmother. (sigh x4)
Courage! My course is charted. I’m off for my walk, aching muscles and all!
p.s. I’m just some ignoramus on the Internet. Before you diet or undertake a new exercise regimen, consult a trustworthy healthcare professional, just as I sought advice from my cousin, a physical therapist, after we exchanged Easter greetings. I don’t want to hear about anyone getting injured or passing out from extreme dieting. Your body is a gift. Treat it with the best care and the most nutritious food you can procure for yourself.
Fitness and prepping have been on my mind (and my blog!) as of late, but as a heads up: my primary passion is writing. This post is a “thank you” to my husband and to all of you, my blog followers. Writing is a life skill worth acquiring. I appreciate your following my amateurish, often cringe-worthy, attempts at expressing my thoughts.
Writing Update:
I posted the completed fourth draft of my novel to Scribophile. I hope that the changes made between the third and fourth draft have improved readability. I wait with baited breath for the feedback. I’m aware of its flaws and of my shortcomings as a writer, but given the feedback I’ve already received, the novel presents a powerful idea. I dream of seeing it in print. Pray for this intention!
Yay for Novels!
Dieting Update: Weight Watches isn’t a “diet.” It’s a lifestyle. Having followed WW for a few months, I have sharper mental clarity, increased physical energy, and fewer low moods / mood swings. Truly, excessive food, junk, and soda consumption (diet or otherwise) dragged me down. Increased well-being from limiting (not eliminating) treats has made a difference that is more important than numbers on the scale. Feeling good is a powerful motivator in perseverance!
I’d be lying if I said I’m not thrilled with the weight loss. Deo Gratis!
A lifestyle change is an uphill climb but def worth it!
Prepping Update: Recently, social media noisemakers have given a bad name to the prepping community. Preppers are paranoid and dangerous, they say. Preppers hold extreme views, they hide in bunkers wearing unwashed camo and tinfoil hats, they eat rodents and hoard weapons.
Those who spread rumors on social media need to get a life. Seriously, put down the phone and look around yourself. Prepping is done by reasonable people all over the political and social spectrum. “Mom preppers” secure food, water, toilet paper, and medications (like epi-pens) for “Aiden” and “Avery” in case of supply chain interruptions. That isn’t paranoia; it’s a parent’s job.
If we’ve learned anything from frozen power grids and pandemics, it’s that prepping is prudent, because situations can and do happen. Like fitness, prepping can be done gradually, as one’s budget and situation allow, but start now if you haven’t already.
To the social media rumor mongers: how have you not figured out that you can’t eat your upvotes in the event of a grid down situation? Don’t even THINK of asking a “mom prepper” for a meal. She’ll swing a frying pan at you rather than allow you access to “Aiden” and “Avery’s” mac’n’cheese and fruit cup supply. You won’t win against a “mom prepper,” you oh-so-brave keyboard warrior, you. Put down the phone, make like a grown up, and start prepping for yourself.
mess with the mama at your own risk. you have been warned.
Have a great weekend, and thanks again for following.
I’d wager I’m not the only wanna-be writer who thinks prepper websites are a good resource for dystopian worldbuilding. Suburbanites like myself, with nearby stores stocking everything we need, and clean water available at the turn of the tap, have a difficult time visualizing a SHTF scenario.
But there’s real-life wisdom to be had in prepping. It isn’t just useful for dystopian worldbuilding.
Winters ago, a pipe burst during an extended cold snap. Talk about surreal; water cascading into one’s living room from the ceiling. We had to shut off the water main into the house. Therefore, we couldn’t flush the toilet. We couldn’t bathe. I couldn’t wash dishes nor the piles of heavy, dirty winter clothes. A deep primeval fear gripped me as I contemplated how long the bottled water I happened to have on hand would ward off dehydration. Unreasonable fear, I know, but whatever.
During those hours without water, our township closed in on us like a trap. Had we crash landed in a desert? Were we stranded in a lifeboat after our ship had sunk? What would happen if everyone in our township lost water at once? Talk about SHTF. That’s the stuff of dystopian novels.
Thankfully, my clever husband fixed the pipe himself. My primeval fear circled the drain with the suds when I showered that night. Ahhh, flowing water. Flowing HOT water! What a blessing! After a licensed plumber inspected my husband’s handiwork and declared our water system safe for return to normal operation, I breathed easier. We’d survived that crisis.
I should have prepped by: stocking more water than just a few stray bottles of the store-brand sparkling stuff. Also, I should have known where the incoming water main valve was, so I could have minimized the in-house flooding. That was a mess that wasn’t easily cleaned up. Are you prepared for a pipe to burst in YOUR home, condo, or apartment?
WHAT I’VE LEARNED ABOUT PREPPING
I’d always snorted at the stereotype of some hairy survivalist living out of cell phone range in the mountains, eating squirrels and wiping himself with conifer needles. While the introvert in me likes isolation, I’d rather not have wildlife for neighbors. No Thank You. Bring on the busybody suburban Karens instead of hungry bears. Karens don’t rummage in the garbage cans.
But prepping is for everybody. My favorite preppers on YouTube stress preparation, not necessarily for a zombie apocalypse or an EMP, but for plausible situations that loom for your particular everyday world. Do you live in tornado alley? Then get a tornado cellar or closet. You get the idea.
My cousins and I used to laugh behind our hands at our grandmother and her sisters. The dear ladies, may they rest in peace, were notorious for penny pinching and hoarding things like soap, toilet paper, bedsheets, socks, and foodstuffs. But look at it from their point of view. They’d lived through the Great Depression and World War II, when supplies were limited, so they were natural preppers. A few days power outage (which happens in tornado alley) didn’t faze them, while the rest of the population was fighting in the store over the rice and toilet paper. They sat safely at home, away from the panic buyers, hands peacefully folded. Go figure.
Some jackwagon wedged a dirty diaper in the rocks in this otherwise lovely Hocking Hills park. Shame on that person! At least put the diaper in the trash and protect the environment!
Maybe my husband is wise to drag all of us to national forests for camping weekends. He wants the children to leave the electronics behind, cook over fires, sleep in a tent, and deal with inconvenient midnight bathroom trips. (my favorite to be sure… NOT). Truth be told, that sort of camping isn’t really roughing it. Shall I give an engineering dissertation about all the plastics we use when we “rough it” out in the wilderness?
There’s lots of good prepping resources on the Internet. Personally I like The Canadian Prepper and City Prepping. The City Prepper has already shared why it’s unwise to want the apocalypse to come. And for all his muscle-bound tough-guy persona, The Canadian Prepper is a good story teller with a surprising sense of humor.
THE RONA EXPRESS
The phone call from the school nurse, that I’ve been dreading ever since sending our children to in-person (as opposed to remote) school last September, came yesterday. My daughter’s school pal received a positive test for The Rona, so my daughter is to quarantine for two weeks since she was exposed. Further directions from the county health department were forwarded to us should she (or any of us in our household) develop symptoms. As far as I know, the pal and her family are OK, but that can change at the drop of a hat.
I feel we were on a car trip, laughing and enjoying ourselves, and instead of bouncing over the tracks at a railroad crossing and continuing on our journey, the car has stalled out while straddling the tracks. We can’t go forwards nor backwards. We’re right in the path of an oncoming train, should one appear.
Right now, all is still. Too still. The tracks aren’t vibrating. There’s no far off grumble of an approaching engine. Meaning, nobody has symptoms. I suppose, being an aspiring author, I should “up the stakes” and strand us at a crossing on an elevated monorail that’s electric so we can’t hear it coming. But for now, all is quiet. The horizon is empty; tracks stretch to the horizon in both directions.
What does this have to do with prepping?
When the world shut down last spring, and tiptoed out of hiding in the summer, it became apparent that eventually, anyone could end up in quarantine. More sobering, many of us will get sick. What do you find comforting when you have flu-like symptoms?Shouldn’t you store boxes of tea and jars of honey? Why not freeze some home-made chicken broth? And of course, don’t forget the toilet paper. Who would have ever thought a high fiber diet would be a liability?
Grocery delivery exists, but what if the order is delayed due to demand? Also, I’m a proud cheapskate, and I’d rather not pay delivery fees. I’m too much of a Generation-Xer for that. Keep your grubby paws off my granny smiths and toothpaste, thank you very much. So sue me. I will inspect my would-be purchases first!
AND NOW FOR THE OBLIGATORY PIETY
God is still God. We aren’t the first group of grubby humans to live during plagues and pandemics. Science explains how tiny viruses can bring us down. Trained medical personnel care for sick with the best available technology. Researchers develop vaccines. Still, at the end of the day, we really don’t have all that much control. The Kingdom of God is a work in progress, and in God’s Kingdom, He’s in control and we aren’t.
Regardless of whether or not we do religion, we all face sickness, suffering, job loss, and death. Some of God’s best servants face appalling sufferings. All we can do is prep for what we can reasonably anticipate, and trust that God can bring good out of what He permits.
A nice hot cup of green tea has healthy antioxidants. Personally, I find it soothing. I’m the mom, and I have to keep my own anxiety at bay while my extroverted, talkative, energetic, swim-team daughter has to quarantine herself for what will feel like an eternity for her.
Carry on, all of you, carry on. This too shall pass. We aren’t in control, but God is. Do what you can, the rest is in His hands. So while I’m praying for God’s help to cope while we’re stranded at the crossing, so to speak.
I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us. (Romans 8:18)
P.S.
Building an author platform goes against the conventional prepper wisdom of LARPing as a Gray Man. Maybe the bad actors in a SHTF scenario will run screaming away from me if I read aloud from the first draft of my novel. It’s a chick novel full of clichés, filtering, purple prose, and head-hopping. The bad guys will hide in their bug out holes with their hands over their ears to avoid more emo chick language.
I’m pleased with how much the novel has progressed now that I’m developing the fourth draft. God bless the gracious Scribophile beta-readers who’ve been so supportive and encouraging, and even the ones who quit reading, screeching how much I sucked. All in a day’s work for an aspiring author!
If I run off the bad guys with my purple prose, then they’ll stay away from my stash beans and rice, and my extra top secret stash of sangria for The Mom’s sipping pleasure:
my birthday roses from my husband are wilting! wahhh!
I don’t plan on blogging any more about prepping, but again, I’m prepared for whatever inspiration I get. Soon, I hope to post my slightly heretical take on Maria Valtorta, a supposed mystic. The purplish, feminine style in her writings still offends the intelligentsia of the Church, seventy years after her heyday. Get real, professor. What do you expect from a woman who never attended college, anyway? The Summa Theologica?
And as the years progressed, and Valtorta’s pile of writings grew, a change in style crept in. The writing became less clunky and more streamlined and efficient. So take heart, amateur writers. If Maria Valtorta’s style improved, then yours can too.
Who remembers a teacher asking him to name the planets in the solar system, starting from the sun outward? Chances are, you included in your lineup a ball of gas named Saturn, which is distinguished by its rings. But have you ever seen it?
Maybe you’ve seen artists’ renditions of far-off planets. Maybe you’ve seen photographs from telescopes launched into space. But have you seen Saturn?
There are nights when Saturn is visible to the naked eye. Except it resembles one of many stars. If you don’t know where to look, you’ll never find it. And how do you “know” it’s Saturn and not something else?
I’ve seen Saturn twice, for real.
The first time, a neighbor parked his hobbyist’s telescope, which was about the height and breadth of a kindergartner, on his driveway. He then summoned all passerby, who were out for their evening walks, to view what he’d found. This otherwise dignified lawyer was positively hopping up and down, like a kid on Christmas morning.
I peered into the eyepiece, and sure enough, a silvery looking, vaguely striped sphere, encircled by rings, presented itself.
A few years later, another neighbor, who was working on her Master of Science degree, invited us to visit her accredited institution of higher education. She promised what she wanted to show us would knock our socks off.
Walking through that place at night made us feel like burglars, until we came to a stand-alone building with a room that could accommodate a king-sized bed. Instead of a bed, a ginormous telescope wired to a flatscreen occupied the room.
The image on the screen was magnificent, but I wasn’t satisfied with a digital image. Any amateur can make images. So the neighbor directed me to the eyepiece on the telescope.
There it was, with nothing between me and the ringed gas giant but empty space and a few mirrors and lenses. The sphere was of varying shades of yellow, gray, and tan. It came across as deceptively serene, regal, and with nothing to prove. Clearly, it’s much bigger than I am. I’m insignificant in comparison. The entire earth is tiny in comparison. Our socks weren’t just knocked off; it took our breath away.
Should we believe everything we’ve been told? Of course not. But there’s nothing like peering into an eyepiece and seeing something for real, as it is, no embellishments, no digitally altered images, no created image whatsoever. The honest teacher from long ago told us Saturn exists, and it does. I believed her as a school girl, and I believe her now, because I’ve seen it. Twice.
People speak of experiences they have had that make them believe God exists. Should I believe them, too? lol. Again, probably not. But what will happen to me after I die? Did I ferret out and follow the tenets that will secure for me a comfortable afterlife, or will the universe laugh at me before it absorbs my soul? Or is there nothing out there to mock my littleness? Is there no wise creator of this amazing creation that’s so much bigger than I am?
Does anybody know where the eyepiece is, so I can have a look?
When I see your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and stars that you set in place – What is man that you are mindful of him, and a son of man that you care for him? Yet you have made him little less than a god, crowned him with glory and honor. You have given him rule over the works of your hands, put all things at his feet. (Psalm 8:4-7)
Ever since the creation of the world, his invisible attributes of eternal power and divinity have been able to be understood and perceived in what he has made. (Romans 1:20)
On a normal day of operation at your friendly neighborhood industrial facility or oil refinery, thousands of pounds of toxic and/or flammable materials are shooting through hot pipes, swirling about in vessels, and reacting under tightly controlled conditions into desirable products. As a (retired) chemical engineer, I’ve worn my steel-toed boots thin in many such a place.
FTR, cyanide has a delicate, almond-like smell.
Such facilities have elaborate plans in place outlining what should be done to protect the surrounding community in case of catastrophic explosions, chemical releases, and the like. Engineers try to think of every possible what-if scenario. Updates to these plans are submitted to public authorities on a regular basis. Still, even the cleverest of engineers (and engineers are very clever if I do say so myself) can’t foresee everything.
Such facilities, when operational, vibrate and rumble with a deep primeval growl. They draw enormously from local grids and often have their own power plants. Inside their perimeter fences are immense amounts of potential energy. Under the right circumstances all this can go kablooey into a spectacular display of kinetic energy.
What if no engineers and operators are around to turn everything off and secure the facility before the SHTF? Anyone within earshot will think it’s the Big Bang or the Second Coming. Next comes a conflagration and a release of hazardous materials. Once everything quiets down, there’d be scorched, poisoned, uninhabitable earth, with twisting, rusted hulks of metal. Green Weenies such as myself cringe at the idea.
This is a scenario I rarely see played out in fiction. The only dystopian story I can think of that mentioned such a scenario is Stephen King’s The Stand. I’m sure there’s other stories that address exploding manufacturing facilities, I’m just not aware of them. Not that I’m aware of all that much. Like, what are my kids snacking on as I type this?
Before you rag on the petrochem industry, take a look at your phone (smart or old fashioned landline) and question yourself about its origins. If you don’t like plastic then put down your phone, get two soup cans, connect the bottoms with a string, and send text messages that way. Hey, look Ma, no plastic!
There you have it, my non-existent readers. Another hint for those who want to write an awesome grid-down-scenario dystopian novel. Don’t forget manufacturing facilities, oil refineries, chemical plants, or the corner gas station.
Don’t ever wish for the grid to go down IRL. Just don’t. It won’t be pretty. For your novel, however, go ahead and blow up that oil refinery near your characters’ place of residence. That’ll make for some exciting reading.
Gotta go check on my kids.
ETA: Industrial accidents are terrible, tragic things. This posting is merely a tip for those writing dystopian fiction.
Also, I am pretty sure that linking photographs from a US government website is permissible. This blog isn’t monetized and I gave proper credits. Here’s hoping I’m correct.
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
There’s many a blog / talking head making the claim that the public has grown weary of dystopian novels and movies. Supposedly the market is as saturated with that genre as it is with vampires.
My own dystopian world building ideas remain alive and well, wriggling like larvae in my cobweb riddled, half-full brain. Hey, I’m an optimist, and my mind is still half full, even if society appears to have gone completely out of its.
I’ve not posted in weeks, mostly because I don’t want to write dystopia when I feel like we’re living in a dystopia. Not that I’m widely read, or even narrowly read, but I’m reluctant to get on society’s last nerve. Besides, I’ve been too agitated by current events to overflow with love, joy, and creativity. My mask has cut off the oxygen to my brain. Oy Vey.
(I wanted to put an image of Gandalf and Frodo here, but I don’t know how to use such images without violating copyright. I don’t want Wingnut Films suing me for the pennies we’ve stuffed into our mattresses to send our children to college. I only use pictures that I take unless otherwise stated.)
One excellent source of dystopian world building ideas are the prepper podcasts that abound on the Internet. Some prepper podcasts are practical, exhorting listeners to prepare for an emergency likely to happen in one’s community, like securing a shelter if one lives in Tornado Alley. Other preppers froth at the mouth about EMPs, asteroid strikes, and intergalactic robo-soldiers establishing martial law in a quiet, law-abiding suburbia.
It’s pretty obvious which writers used prepper information as a world building aid.
Writers often joke among themselves that their internet searches might summon the FBI, like, expect an unmarked van to park across the street from your house after you google about how to hide the murder victim. The infamous YouTube algorithm probably has flagged me as someone who’s gone out of her half full mind. Those of us who make our imaginations work can sometimes get carried away. So sue us, it’s for a good cause. Who doesn’t like a good novel or screenplay?
You’re welcome.
If you’ve already heard the tidbit about prepper videos for dystopian world-building, then SIAP and for making the Internet more redundant than it already is. I tend to think I’m so original and clever, only to discover it’s been thought of before. Like the Bible says, there’s nothing new under the sun. (Ecclesiastes 1:9)
As an update, I’ve finished Novel Number Two that I started over Christmas 2019. While I’m mightily pleased with myself, I simply don’t have the mental and emotional bandwidth to finish editing it into something I’m not embarrassed to post onto Scribophile. Instead, I’m turning the third draft of Novel Number One into its fourth draft. And critting someone else’s YA novel.
May God be thanked for the kind and intelligent critiquers who gave me feedback last spring just as the coronavirus (poop) was hitting the fan.
What do you want your words to do? Entertain? Inform? Persuade? Level sarcasm? Bludgeon? Make money? Gain attention? Prove how clever and erudite you are? Lead your readers over a cliff like so many lemmings? Provide catharsis? Or do you simply love spinning stories and find it fulfilling when others enjoy them?
Bear with me while I quote something from almost three thousand years ago:
Thus says the LORD: Just as from the heavens the rain and snow come down and do not return there till they have watered the earth, making it fertile and fruitful, giving seed to the one who sows and bread to the one who eats, so shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; my word shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it. (Isaiah 55:10-11)
I enjoy writing, but if it’s going to be read by another, I’d like to give them something. Crops would be nice, but a novel that entertains and energizes readers for their own real life journeys would please me greatly. That’s the aim for which I send out my words.
Thanks, Mom, for letting me use your picture! 🙂
Novel Number One is on ice. I wrote a messy first draft of Novel Number Two earlier this year. NN2 is very twisted stuff. Pandemic induced anxiety is bringing out my inner gremlin. This my brain on lockdown, folks! I’m about halfway through a rewrite to make it fit to post on Scribophile. I’ve got files of smaller stuff drafts needing rewrites. I’m having fun, but it’s such a SLOW process. Are other writers as slow as I am? Should I even be doing this? Will I ever produce anything that’s fit to publish?
Some Famous Person wrote that writers do what they do for revenge and not money. My fortysomething brain can’t remember who wrote that. Poor witty person, what’s the point of being famous if people don’t connect you to your pithy cleverness? Anyway, while I would posit that while writers do what they do for any number of reasons, avenging one’s dignity and sensibilities is high on the list.
Once upon a time in a college classroom far, far away, I learned, to my great amusement, that Dante Alighieri placed his political enemies and other people he disliked into The Inferno. Down, down, down they go, what level they stop upon only Dante knows! Just ask him!
Other writers who profess a religion that discourages revenge still indulge themselves in this highly entertaining pastime. All for the good of the story, mind you.
OK, I’ll admit it, I’ve done it myself.
The notorious bully in my first novel was a composite of real live people, but the main ingredient was …. Bully, a real character.
Bully is attractive, charming, successful, and popular. Anyone who complains against her is written off as an inferior having a jealousy fit. When Bully drops occasional kindnesses, her victims are thrown off balance. Cunning and manipulative, unnaturally skilled in button pushing, this person will strike and you’ll never know what hit you. Never, ever think you have her confidence or her respect. Anything you say can be repeated by her for a laugh at your expense.
Even though I changed the identifying details, I managed to capture the essence of Bully. The black cloud of knowing her came with the silver lining of providing a fascinating character model. Who likes Mary Sue characters, anyway? Bully even rang true for my readers when they met her in an early draft of the novel, where the plot could kindly be described as a train wreck.
Since I’m supposed to be a Catholic, my activities must pass Gospel muster. So right now I’m choking on this verse.
Yikes!
I’m thankful Bully, the brilliant and charming, has better things to do than read draft three of my novel.
I can always justify what I did. There’s a difference between using life experiences for story generation and opening up oneself for a defamation of character lawsuit, isn’t there?
Personally, I found I could make better sense of my life experiences when I framed them through the characters’ eyes and not just my own. Also, channeling negative emotion into a believable story gave me a great cathartic relief.
After the catharsis came wisdom. Reader reactions vindicated Bully’s victims, thus evaporating the cloud of Bully’s gaslighting. Though my readers wondered what lay at the root of her nature. Some of them reminded me that today’s fans of fiction don’t like a villain who is 100% evil. IMO she’s a textbook case of how power corrupts. She does what she does because she can. But what do I know? I’m not her confidante. I’m not her therapist. I want to be neither.
After I eviscerated this person (and preened over the praise heaped upon my utterly brilliant characterization, ha), the tiniest bit of sympathy for her actually bloomed inside. Just a bit, where before there’d been a solid wall of confused loathing.
Exposing people for ridicule, attempting to punish, and seeking revenge to the point where a fellow human being is crushed… what does that accomplish? Will acts of revenge make the world a better place? If Bully knew how offensive the readers found her, would this defang her propensity for bullying, or delight her and drive her into more evildoing?
While justice should be sought when laws have been broken, and IMHO sagacity and assertiveness are necessary life skills, the best way to deal with people like her is another Gospel inspired set of words to live by.
Since taking the high road won’t give me the aforementioned benefits, I’ll have to see to it that a difference exists between the real live people and the character I created. I wouldn’t want them recognizing each other. In the unlikely event that my novel goes up for publication, I want to say without fibbing that my novel “is a work of fiction, any resemblance to real life persons, living or dead, is a coincidence blah blah blah.” Besides, I don’t want Bully’s lawyers serving me up with a defamation of character lawsuit.
What do Lantana flowers have to do with using real live people in novels? Nothing. I just thought them lovely. I’m ready to bash my head on a wall, because while “Lantana” is the genus name, I’ve been unable to locate the species name. Due to nature and hybridization, over 150 species of Lantana exist.
Lantana will take over and crowd out indigenous plants, and can be poisonous. But I’m not connecting the flower with Bully. Lantana has its uses, like being decorative and a favorite of pollinators and butterflies.
Anyway, the only satisfaction I get for all my usage of Bully as the main ingredient in a character composite is the smug look I can give her next time it’s unavoidable that we meet. Bwah ha ha ha ha.
Jennifer Edelmeyer's Blog 
