Carlene Havel's Blog: Carlene, page 12
October 1, 2012
Timelines and Setting
Before I begin the first sentence of the first chapter of a work of fiction, I write a personality profile and physical description of each major character. Is a house, office building, or other structure significant to the action? I draw a floor plan and briefly describe the decor. My timeline begins with the plot situation and works backwards. For instance, if the action begins in 1800 and the hero is 30 years old, then obviously he was born in 1770. If the heroine is five years younger, I have a reference point that establishes her birth date as 1775. If she went to school between the ages of five and sixteen, her education began in 1780 and ended in 1791. This takes a lot of self-discipline, because all the time I’m doing this preparation work I’m just bursting to get started telling the story. However, the up-front work pays off. If I want to drop an event into a character’s past, the time line allows me to set the date easily because the math has already been done. As for the inspiration, I have a notebook stuffed with ideas for stories. A hundred years wouldn’t be enough time to get them all done!
September 29, 2012
The Thrill of Reading
Do you recall what life was like before you learned to read? I have a few such memories:
I sat on the porch and cried. It has hit me that I know nothing other than what other people have told me. I, from my own mind, cannot point to a single fact that I know, unless I trust the words of others. For some reason, I found this revelation devastating. My mother asked me why I am crying. She smiled, and pulled me into her lap. “Next year you will go to school,” she reminded me. “Yes!” I was instantly cheered. "When I go to school, I will learn to read. And THEN I will know things for myself."
I sat on the porch and cried. It has hit me that I know nothing other than what other people have told me. I, from my own mind, cannot point to a single fact that I know, unless I trust the words of others. For some reason, I found this revelation devastating. My mother asked me why I am crying. She smiled, and pulled me into her lap. “Next year you will go to school,” she reminded me. “Yes!” I was instantly cheered. "When I go to school, I will learn to read. And THEN I will know things for myself."
September 28, 2012
Giveaway-A Hero's Homecoming
It starts today at http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway Put your name in the hat to win a signed copy of "A Hero's Homecoming". October 2nd will be the last day! Goodreads will ask for your snail mail address to complete your registration. That's so the winner can receive their prize. The Goodreads rules against using those addresses for any other purpose sound very strict, which I appreciate. I love books, but don't need any more insurance, catalogues, or credit card applications! Wander on over and check out the long list of books being given away. The "recently listed" tab will get you to "A Hero's Homecoming" quickest, although you'll still need to scroll past a smorgasbord of other offerings. Go ahead, sign up for all of them. There's no limit.
September 27, 2012
Where do ideas come from?
When I remember last night's dreams I can exactly trace the origin of some. A recent movie, conversation, or unexpected event had something of a makeover. Then the edited version reappeared in my dream, either as a snippet or major theme. Others come from some unknown, baffling sector of my brain. So it is with ideas. Some are the product of a logical progression toward a goal, flowing from a predictable thought process. But occasionally, some bizarre idea comes hurtling out of nowhere to implant itself and disrupt all that tidy mental order. Where do those ideas come from I wonder? Are they like radio waves, floating through the atmosphere, waiting to connect with the antenna of my mind? Do they pre-exist inside, waiting to be mined and brought to the surface? Or is there a busy little factory somewhere inside our heads--or maybe stored in the cloud--generating ideas, dreams, and notions for my rational review and approval. If a thought feels ignored, will it then burst forth in my dreams? I wish I knew.
September 26, 2012
Buster
Bonjour. I am Fidette, a poodle of the highest breeding. Like every female of French descent—yes, doggies as well as humans--I am crazy for romance.
Let me tell you of my latest amour, a golden retriever named Buster. I’ve heard it said dogs take on the characteristics of their owners, but actually it’s the other way around. Mon cher Buster is big and blond and loves to take charge, much like his master Rich Martino. If you read “A Hero’s Homecoming” you will readily see that Buster is the true hero, not to mention the most romantic of canines.
For maximum joie de vivre I highly recommend you read this book to your dog. Underline the passages that mention Buster, then go back and read only the parts underlined to your pet. Ah, mon ami, you will find Buster so irresistibly comme il faut.
Let me tell you of my latest amour, a golden retriever named Buster. I’ve heard it said dogs take on the characteristics of their owners, but actually it’s the other way around. Mon cher Buster is big and blond and loves to take charge, much like his master Rich Martino. If you read “A Hero’s Homecoming” you will readily see that Buster is the true hero, not to mention the most romantic of canines.
For maximum joie de vivre I highly recommend you read this book to your dog. Underline the passages that mention Buster, then go back and read only the parts underlined to your pet. Ah, mon ami, you will find Buster so irresistibly comme il faut.
September 25, 2012
Charlotte
Have you met Charlotte? I really like her, although I have to admit she can be a little crazy. We first got to know each on a trip to Washington—not the state, our nation’s capitol. I was looking for a roommate to share hotel expenses for the counseling psychologist convention. So a mutual friend put me in touch with Charlotte. We met each other for the first time at the airport, when we caught our flight to D.C. Since our seats were several rows apart, we didn’t get to visit until after we landed and got in the taxi to go to our hotel.
I’ve done a lot of travelling, and I could tell right away Charlotte and I would be compatible roommates. When someone walks in the room, turns on the TV to her favorite channel, and cranks up the volume we’re in for a bumpy ride. Charlotte didn’t do that. Nor did she take up more than half of the vanity countertop space—I hate it when someone does that, don’t you? She was considerate enough to make the bathroom all neat when she was through taking her shower. I’d have to say making her bed every morning was overkill. Charlotte is something of a neat freak, but a pleasant one. Not one of those screech owls, keeping everything in perfect order and getting huffy if you don’t do the same.
We got unpacked and decided to go find some dinner. I suggested a restaurant I’d spotted when the taxi let us off at the hotel. It was one of those tiny mom-and-pop eateries with a lot of character and usually pretty good food that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. It was a totally DC kind of place.
We were walking over to the restaurant when some nasty-looking guy comes up to us and asks for money. I was going to walk right by him, but she asks him why he needs money. I’m thinking, Get a grip, Charlotte! He wants money for wine, booze, or drugs. Can’t you tell by looking at him?
Of course, he says he’s hungry, hasn’t had a meal in three days. I had a creepy feeling Charlotte was going to give him money--but she did something worse. She invited him to come and have dinner with us! I think I’m just as compassionate as the next person, but I was definitely not in the mood to share dinner with someone who didn’t look all that clean.
When we started to go inside the restaurant, some little old fellow—it turned out he was the restaurant’s owner—came bouncing out of a back room yelling “He no come in here. That man no come. No come.” It took me a minute to realize he was talking about that tramp Charlotte picked up on our way in. After some conversation, Charlotte told the wino if he would wait outside, she would buy him some food and bring it to him. I was already wishing I’d had room service. But I sat in a booth while my new friend got a go box and filled it at the buffet line. She even went outside a couple of times to talk to the homeless guy. Told me later it was to find out what he liked to eat!
After the weirdo went on his way with a big box full of food, we sat down and ate dinner. Strange thing is, Charlotte acted like nothing out of the ordinary happened. We talked about business, our kids, and normal stuff.
After the conference, we got on a flight that was absolutely packed. Every seat was taken. We were in the back, across from the galley. Our seats didn’t recline, but that row in front of us sure did. Charlotte traded with me so I could have the aisle because I was getting claustrophobia in that middle seat. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was a huge storm system between here and Washington. That airplane bumped up and down like a stock market graph. When the flight attendants started acting nervous, I thought we were going to crash.
I had to wake Charlotte up to tell her we were going to die. Know what she said? “Let’s pray.” She held my hand and said a prayer for our safety and then she went right back to sleep. See what I mean about being a little nutty? You can read more about Charlotte in “A Hero’s Homecoming” by Carlene Havel.
I’ve done a lot of travelling, and I could tell right away Charlotte and I would be compatible roommates. When someone walks in the room, turns on the TV to her favorite channel, and cranks up the volume we’re in for a bumpy ride. Charlotte didn’t do that. Nor did she take up more than half of the vanity countertop space—I hate it when someone does that, don’t you? She was considerate enough to make the bathroom all neat when she was through taking her shower. I’d have to say making her bed every morning was overkill. Charlotte is something of a neat freak, but a pleasant one. Not one of those screech owls, keeping everything in perfect order and getting huffy if you don’t do the same.
We got unpacked and decided to go find some dinner. I suggested a restaurant I’d spotted when the taxi let us off at the hotel. It was one of those tiny mom-and-pop eateries with a lot of character and usually pretty good food that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. It was a totally DC kind of place.
We were walking over to the restaurant when some nasty-looking guy comes up to us and asks for money. I was going to walk right by him, but she asks him why he needs money. I’m thinking, Get a grip, Charlotte! He wants money for wine, booze, or drugs. Can’t you tell by looking at him?
Of course, he says he’s hungry, hasn’t had a meal in three days. I had a creepy feeling Charlotte was going to give him money--but she did something worse. She invited him to come and have dinner with us! I think I’m just as compassionate as the next person, but I was definitely not in the mood to share dinner with someone who didn’t look all that clean.
When we started to go inside the restaurant, some little old fellow—it turned out he was the restaurant’s owner—came bouncing out of a back room yelling “He no come in here. That man no come. No come.” It took me a minute to realize he was talking about that tramp Charlotte picked up on our way in. After some conversation, Charlotte told the wino if he would wait outside, she would buy him some food and bring it to him. I was already wishing I’d had room service. But I sat in a booth while my new friend got a go box and filled it at the buffet line. She even went outside a couple of times to talk to the homeless guy. Told me later it was to find out what he liked to eat!
After the weirdo went on his way with a big box full of food, we sat down and ate dinner. Strange thing is, Charlotte acted like nothing out of the ordinary happened. We talked about business, our kids, and normal stuff.
After the conference, we got on a flight that was absolutely packed. Every seat was taken. We were in the back, across from the galley. Our seats didn’t recline, but that row in front of us sure did. Charlotte traded with me so I could have the aisle because I was getting claustrophobia in that middle seat. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was a huge storm system between here and Washington. That airplane bumped up and down like a stock market graph. When the flight attendants started acting nervous, I thought we were going to crash.
I had to wake Charlotte up to tell her we were going to die. Know what she said? “Let’s pray.” She held my hand and said a prayer for our safety and then she went right back to sleep. See what I mean about being a little nutty? You can read more about Charlotte in “A Hero’s Homecoming” by Carlene Havel.
September 24, 2012
Same Difference
There are some challenges associated with writing a book about someone who lived thousands of years ago. Their food choices were limited, transportation was slow, and all clothing was laboriously hand made. Housing was similar to ours in many ways, though generally smaller for the poor and larger for the rich. How did they suvive without central air conditioning? As far back as recorded history exists, makeup and jewelry were worn—equally popular or more so among men than women. While the external lives of the ancients were quite different from ours, the inside hearts and minds were the same then as now. Love, hate, faith, deceit, honor, sacrifice, hope—the feelings that make life worth living; the betrayals that break our hearts—those endure unchanged across the ages.
September 22, 2012
Inspiration
What is so wonderful, horrible, or side-splitting funny that it simply must be incorporated into a book? It can be anything. You know you have achieved an author’s mindset if, in the middle of a muddle, there’s an undercurrent of thought declaring “this is good material.” The event itself may be mundane, but that trusty writer’s perspective sees it from an angle that begs “write me, write me!” For example, I had an intensely frustrating encounter with a bookstore salesperson. After the first few minutes of our conversation, I realized she was giving me a lovely gift. Apply a little imagination, edit some snippets here and there and Presto! those maddeningly inept answers could make my readers laugh out loud. More information about this incident? You’ll have to read my novels.
September 21, 2012
Whatcha Reading?
What am I reading? That's sometimes a difficult question. Should I mention the book by the bed, or the one sitting in the TV room, or those four or five currently active on my kindle? Sometimes I want to float in froth, and other days I want to sink my mental teeth into something deeply philosophical or theological. What did people do before they had books? Reading can teach, challenge, entertain, and comfort. I'm so grateful David was inspired to write the 23rd Psalm. It has given reassurance to the human race for thousands of years--because it was written down.
September 20, 2012
Shake Your Spear
William Shakespeare. He's an icon of English language literature, or so my college professors rhapsodized. Is he still relevant? Or is the inexorable linguistic evolution lessening the quotability of his words? I recall one fellow in an English class who said he somewhat liked Shakespeare's writing, but complained that the man used far too many cliches. Interesting day - I'll just say some teachers can overreact. Reading Julius Caesar in high school was part pleasure, part torture. When it takes a footnote to explain "This is a pun" I find the humor is lost. I recently looked at a website that gave Shakespears a rating of 78% as an author. He did better on quotations - somewhere in the high nineties. I have no idea where these percentages come from or how they are calculated. What W.S. quotes stand out in your mind? What is so rare as a day in June? Wise up, Willy. There are 30 of them every year. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Not if you live in Texas, because you’d end up using words like miserable, sticky, unbearable, and tiresome. What was it that professor said about the cliche comment? "Some of you were born to be literary Philistines"? Sorry, Willy, I love much of your work, but cannot say you're the greatest ever. But then, I'm not certain who is...
