Penny Draper's Blog, page 4

-14: The Zombie Acopalypse

Add an old man, a grandson and a river together and it’s inevitable that things will come out smelling fishy. The Red River is famous for it’s catfish (bass too, but the catfish are uglier and thus more interesting). Ictalurus punctuates, or Channel Catfish, is North America’s largest family of catfish and the official fish of five states. Go figure. Anglers love them, because they can grow quite large and put up a good fight when hooked.

Right from the start I knew I wanted to include channel cats in the story. It’s the story of a river, after all, so there should be fish in it. One can fish for channel cats in summer from the river’s edge, and in winter through holes in the ice. Some anglers name the big ones, and give them personalities, all story-worthy concepts.

I’ve been musing about the role of the channel cats in this story – should they be used as local colour, an intergenerational connection, or something more? I’m leaning towards something more. Maybe they can be part of Peter’s secret, although I’m not sure how.

My family is helping with ideas, having more fishing experience than I. My son would like me to add a zombie catfish apocalypse, and suggests I watch the movie Sharknado for some really good ideas. Hmmm. And I thought he had good taste. Nevertheless, never say never.

My publisher and I are emailing each other pictures of channel cats, trying to find the ugliest catfish in the universe. There are an awful lot of contestants. He has also taken to eating catfish, in solidarity with this whole idea. My publisher is truly a man who goes the distance.

 

-16: The Evolution of Armstrong

Armstrong has to die. I keep trying to kill him off, but somehow, he just won’t die. And he’s really, really old – I mean, how hard can it be?

When I used to hear authors talk about how their characters took on lives of their own, how they – the authors – could not control their actions, well, I thought the conceit rather precious. I mean, really? You’re the author, for heaven’s sake, and your characters can’t do a darn thing without your help.

My apologies to all those authors.

My characters are, at times, badly behaved. My worst experience was in A Terrible Roar of Water. On the very first page, Murphy is on his uncle’s stage, jigging for capelin. His older cousin, Rory, arrives home from a day’s fishing and as he ties up the dory he’s supposed to tell Murphy to come for dinner. Instead, he gets into an argument with Murphy. Rory is mean and sarcastic, and raises a “Big Theme” that has no place in the book. I was furious. But somehow, the dialogue just took me there. “Murphy, it’s time for dinner” didn’t work no matter how many ways I wrote it, whereas I could absolutely hear the argument taking place.

The problem was that this argument, small as it was, had the potential to change the whole direction of the novel. Finally I wrote the first chapter both ways, with and without the argument, and sent it to Barbara, my long-time editor. Her advice was decisive and firm. “The argument has to stay. It makes perfect sense.” So Rory became a major character and the novel all of a sudden had an unintended political overtone. The argument made for a better book, but I’ve never quite forgiven Rory for being so pushy.

So in the end, I blame dialogue for the misbehaviour of my characters. What naturally comes out of their mouths in the course of the story can lead in many different directions. Sometimes I feel more like their keeper than their creator.

So, in that Armstrong won’t die (at least at this point in the story), the only alternative is to deepen the relationship between him and Finn. Armstrong has to contribute something if he wants to live. Instead of a loose end, now I’m left searching for an intergenerational connection.

For that, I dig into my own past, and find the answer in my husband’s family traditions. Doc, my father-in-law, was a master at many things, not least of which was his crib game. He was terrifying to play with. The whole family is, actually. The speed and accuracy of their counting made me dizzy; Doc was able to remember every card that was played, every hand. Their crib boards were all hand carved, and passed down through the generations.

So cribbage will be the tie that binds. And for the record, if there are any mistakes in the book regarding my cribbage references, they are mine and mine alone. Several family members checked and double-checked those passages. One dare not trifle with this game.

 

-17: Making the flood fun

Wikipedia

I am really glad that I decided that it’s Finn’s job to make the flood fun, because I’m still struggling with the concept. It’s taking weeks for the crest to roll down the river.

So let’s think about this from the point of view of a thirteen-year-old. What’s appealing about a flood? It’s mucky, and who can resist getting down and dirty? There’s potential to perform grown-up tasks, and tweens want to take that next step towards adulthood. There’s camaraderie and working together, and that appeals to a sense of belonging.

Throw in extra school credit, and I have the glimmering of an idea. But if I told you, you’d have to be shot. And just to ensure that you have trouble guessing how Finn does it, here’s a bit of trivia that I came across when researching this section:

“Learning and practising the didgeridoo helps reduce snoring and obstructive sleep apnea by strengthening muscles in the upper airway.”

There will be no spoiler alerts here.

A short digression

A brief interruption to the Thirty Day Writing Challenge to let you know where I am right now…

I’ve just flown over a magical land, full of fairy tale chimneys, cave dwellers, hidden vaults and phallic monoliths. If ever there was a place to inspire story, this is it. One doesn’t need to be Tolkien to imagine exotic creatures, great quests and mythological battles.

Cappadocia, Turkey.

We took to the air in a hot air balloon to fly in silence over the pillars of Love Valley, the hidden Christian churches and the gnome-like houses. Then we ate with a family that actually lives in a cave carved way back in the second century to hide persecuted Christians.

My mind is awash with ideas. But like most travels, we are moving on to the next great sight and the next and the next. My imagination is having trouble keeping up!

-18: Peripheral characters

Charles-Daniel de Meuron, founder of the Regiment de Meuron (photo from Wikipedia)

The concept of Swiss mercenary soldiers sounds ludicrous. But such a regiment actually existed, and after serving in the Napoleonic Wars these soldiers were hired to come to Canada to fight in the War of 1812. When that conflict ended, Lord Selkirk hired them to protect the Red River settlers. The de Meuron soldiers eventually brought their families to Canada and settled in St. Boniface, a Winnipeg suburb named after the regiment.

Ha! Betcha didn’t know that! I just love research.

And the best part is that Charles-Daniel was born in Neuchatel, Switzerland, which is exactly the same town where I went to boarding school. Serendipity strikes again. In honour of this connection, Peter gets to have de Meuron as his last name.

But yet again, I digress. The point here is that the military will be playing a role in this story, just as the military did in the 1997 flood.  When dealing with actual history, it is important that the fiction remain true and this story cannot be told without the soldiers.

The 1997 flood was an important PR event for the Canadian military. Fresh off the Somali Affair, dubbed “Canada’s national shame”, the military needed to repair their domestic and international image. The flood provided them with a national stage from which they could  show proof of their integrity. Some soldiers reported that the thank-you letters they received from the residents of the Red River Valley, particularly the children, were the highlight of their military career.

For a wonderful video of the military in action during the flood, click here.

 

-19: The Ensemble Cast

I have to admit to a total cop-out when it comes to minor figures. If I was smart, I would (in advance) decide the following:

Who are Finn’s friends and how important are they to the story?
What is their function?
Does Finn really need them to do what he has to do?
How do they relate to one another, if at all?
How many lines do they get?
If they are not “growth” characters, i.e.  if they are not given the opportunity to grow and change over the course of the novel, how much attention do I need to pay to their personalities? And how do I stop them from being stereotypical?
Are they worthy of names?

The list of questions should probably be longer, but there’s no point in going any further because I don’t actually ask any of them. I would truly like to be that thoughtful and organized, but I’m not holding my breath that I ever will be.

The truth is, for me, dialogue determines the cast. Nothing more. Finn goes places and does stuff, and when the scene seems to require someone else in it, I add somebody. The characters talk, and as the conversation evolves, my sense of the new cast member resolves. In later scenes and later conversations, additional characters may be added, and some will be taken away if their role turns out to be puny or their dialogue weak.  I truly don’t know when I start how all that will go.  Yes, this approach sounds a little loosey-goosey even to me, but it is unfortunately the truth.

I think the overriding consideration is function. I don’t need understudies. Each member of the ensemble cast has to have something to do, or they need to find another book.

 

 

-20: A Tale of two floods

The Red River floods regularly, so one of my first issues is to pick the most story-worthy flood. There are two candidates from the twentieth century: 1950 and 1997. The destruction was far greater in 1950, even though there was more water in 1997. In a series called Disaster Strikes!, it’s tempting to go for destruction. And I found some interesting tidbits from 1950:

In 1950, Hollywood needed more Canadian coverage for their northern market. The flood was a gift from the gods. It was great visual theatre, yet unfolded so slowly that there was time to get your people and their cameras in place.
Only bottled beer, no draft beer, could be served in establishments with sewage backups in their basements.
Most of the money collected for the flood fund was collected in cinemas, because that’s where you found all the people. In 1950, almost everyone went to the movies once a week.

But 1997 had its own charms.  As a story; I mean no disrespect to anybody who suffered through either event. 1997, with all the water that poured over the banks of the Red, caused less damage because the province was prepared. Not only had it spent millions and millions of dollars on the Floodway and improved diking, it also had the example of Grand Forks (which fell to the ’97 flood two weeks before the water hit Winnipeg) to inspire volunteer flood fighters. And more importantly, there was a secret story in ’97. Call it an accident or an act of God, the unexpected happened in Ste. Agathe and the unexpected always makes for a good story.

1997 it is.

-21: A Sense of Place

The Red River near Ste. Agathe

I’m a visual writer. I have to see a place first hand, then surround myself with lots of pictures and maps in order to enter my story world. In fact, one wall of my study is painted with magnetic paint so that I can stick up all my visual props.  This gives me a lot of detail to work with, too much at times. The creation of a sense of place is more a deconstruction than a construction.

I’ve never created a fantasy world, but my guess is that the world would start as a mythology, with details of geography, history, flora, fauna, etc. added in layers until the world is whole. Everything added would have a function. In historical fiction, the elements are already in place, and the author must strip away those excess to need. Which details count?

The Wishing Bridge
Frank, Alberta

Sometimes I simply choose details that appeal to me. In Terror at Turtle Mountain, it was a bridge. It wasn’t an important bridge, I just liked it. In RRR, it’s a place by the river.

 

I walked different stretches of the river in the summer, trying to find a spot that appealed. I didn’t know how the spot would be used, but in my mind’s eye I could picture a character returning over and over to one special place. What did he do there? Why was it special?

I’ve decided that this will be the spot where Finn and Peter meet. Important things will pass between them, dramatic scenes will be played out. And when the river floods, it will disappear. This makes sense to me. A flood destroys one’s sense of place.

 

-22: The Back Story

Home again.

Scooter’s in the garage, laundry is washed, cupboards have been restocked. I have a long list of deferral activities; in fact, I think it fair to say I exceed expectations when it comes to procrastination. But with all tasks successfully completed, the blank screen awaits. I love this moment. There is so much potential,  with no tangles to mar the perfection.

Well, that’s going to change.

First tangle: how do I get rid of Finn’s parents? The story is always stronger if my character has to sort things out for him or herself. I thought about divorce, but that’s too easy. I mean, as a device. Kill them off? Too cruel. Finn’s a smart kid, so maybe his parents are smart too. I’ll make them researchers. What do they research? This story is about a river, so one of them can be a river expert. Are there river scientists? What are they called?

I haven’t written a word yet and I’m already off track. All I need to do is get rid of his parents because they aren’t part of this story, but I’ve wasted a whole morning developing their research program. Did you know that a scientist who studies rivers is called a potamologist? In truth, it’s not a widely used term but it’s accurate, and it’s such a cool word that I have to use it. They’ll be researching a remote river (so it will make sense that Finn has to stay behind) but a scientifically important river. It’s truly amazing what Google can do with odd search terms. It turns out that the Yenisei River in the Russian Arctic fits the bill. It starts in Mongolia, empties into the Arctic Ocean, is difficult to get to, and is sparsely populated. Better still, it runs south to north like the Red River and thus suffers from annual ice jams and consequent flooding, also the same as the Red. Not that those details are important to the story but I like the symmetry.

I just found out that Canadian Colin Angus was a member of the first team to navigate the Yenisei’s entire length in 2001. Checking out his website. Switching to my library site to put a hold on his book. It’s for research, of course.

Focus, Penny.

The disposal of Finn’s parents is only necessary to set the stage, but it will be a good tool to introduce Finn’s personality. He’s telling the story, not me, so what’s he thinking when his parents tell him they’re dumping him with his grandmother while they go on an exciting adventure? Does he care? Does he take it well? Is he aggressive, abusive, a whiner? Scrivener wants me to list his character traits but that’s not how I work. It’s more like I feel him as a person. So I just write his dialogue and hope for the best.

I just ran my first attempt by my son, who rolled his eyes. “A little precocious, don’t you think?” he asked. Back to the drawing board to work for a little more edge. But overall, as a springboard, I think this back story will work. Too bad it’s only the back story. My whole day is gone.

-23: First Person Present

I grew up with the European fairy tale tradition.  It was always so exciting to hear that “once upon a time” something had happened, and I was about to hear all about it. “Once upon a time” infers the past, which made sense to me as a child because how could you tell a story if it hadn’t happened yet? Or was happening right at this moment? I couldn’t have put these words to it at the time, but I was depending on the storyteller to impose a certain amount of curatorship on the happenings of the story before I heard it.

For that reason I have never liked reading books written in the present tense. “I walk to the store.” If this is truly the present, then I don’t know if anything story-worthy is going to happen on my way to the store, and I could be wasting your time. How do you guide a story if it is unravelling with each step? How do you deconstruct it for the reader, letting go of excess poundage while keeping the heart intact?

However, I’ve promised myself to try something new with each book to keep the series fresh. Many authors swear by first person present.  So I’m going to write the first couple of chapters both ways, in first and in third, and see what happens.

Finn has an intriguing voice. I think when he grows up he’s going to be a sportscaster, able to give an energetic play-by-play of the action. In the meantime, I want readers to live inside his head. And I want Finn to know they’re there; he needs to talk to them, to have them share his surprise, his jokes, his hurt and his friends’ laughter. I think it’s important to Finn that readers believe he’s not crazy, to understand how a not-crazy kid can end up in such a crazy situation. And so the story must play out in the present. Readers must share his shock, which is only powerful in the present; second-hand shock is a measly thing, a faint memory of strong emotion.

Of course, this means I’m not the storyteller any more, and that could be dangerous.