What’s taking so long?

Photo courtesy my daughter Elizabeth. 

Ok, I’ve recently got some comments and emails from folks asking me what is taking so long with the “Journey of St. Laurent” updates. I’m not letting the project drop, nor have I forgotten that I’m supposed to be writing it.

By way of whiny excuses, here’s what’s been slowing me down, in no particular order.

Tired

Hey, I’ve got a new baby. She’s not a great sleeper. (Although very healthy) While no sleep for one or two nights may equal awesome hallucinogenic writing sessions, chronic lack of sleep only equals frustration when I sit at the keyboard and can’t focus on the words.

The good news is that she is getting better.

Sick

I’m getting over some kind of throat ick that had me down for a while.

Real Work

In the real world, I’m a programmer. When I want some extra cash, I’ll take a side web development job. I’ve had one that I’ve sat on too long that I’m trying to crank out right now. It’s moving along, but biting into creative time.

An Alien Project

I’ve been working on a separate website for The Journey of St. Laurent like unto the one I made for my zombie book Oasis. I recently scrapped what I had been doing, and I’ll be putting up more of a “teaser” site soon (which will include the cover I think I’m going to use.)

Another project

I’ve also been working on a project for authors that want to self publish a book. I’ve finally (this morning) gotten it to what I consider to be a launch-able point.

It’s a tutorial site that has a few (and will have more over time) tutorials on self publishing.

If you want to check it out, go visit:

www.HowToSelfPublishABook.org

The good news

The good news is that things are clearing up and getting finished, and I’ll be able to carve out a little bit of time to write. More and more as time goes on.

Does that mean a new chapter this week?

Maybe. I’ll do my best.

Your Characters Aren’t You

by Randy Ingermanson

Note: This article is reprinted with Randy’s permission.

At least twice a month, I get a letter that runs roughly like this:

"Hi Randy:

I’m writing a novel about something horrible that happened in my life. Nobody would ever believe what those dirty rotten scoundrels did to me, so I’m making it a novel. It’s gonna be great! The only question I have is what legal problems I’ll face when they read my book. Can I get sued, even if it’s all the exact truth? Do I have to change their names? I want them to suffer!

Sincerely, Joe Wannawriteanovel"

Before you read on, think about that for a minute. How would you answer Joe? Can he get sued for telling the truth?

I usually begin my answer to this kind of e-mail by pointing out that I’m not a lawyer, and therefore nothing I say can be construed as legal advice. Then I say that, so far as I understand it, telling the truth is not libel, but it can be invasion of privacy. So even if a novel tells the absolute truth, the author might still be sued for making private details public.

I usually advise Joe to make a few eeny weeny changes: Change the names of the characters. Change their genders. Change their personal descriptions. Change their ethnic heritages. Change their personalities. Change the facts of the story so that nobody could possibly recognize the circumstances and guess that the people involved are friends or family of Joe. Change everything.

In short, write fiction.

In my view, the legal issues aren’t really the biggest problem with writing a novel based on real people. The real problem is that real situations involving real people make really boring fiction.

In fiction, nothing is written in stone. If you need to edit a Gertrude into a Gary, then you must have the freedom to make that change. If you need to merge five fuzzy characters into two memorable ones, then you must feel free to merge. If your lead character needs a horrible seventh-grade experience involving a tarantula, a blindfold, and an icepick, then you have to be able to conjure up that memory.

You can’t afford to hamstring your fiction with an inconvenient set of facts. If you base your novel on something that really happened, then every time you need to tweak your plot or characters, you’ll hear a voice in the back of your head saying, "But it didn’t happen that way."

Let’s be honest. Fiction is about telling lies. Big, fat, hairy, prevaricating lies. If you want to write about the truth, or approximately the truth, or even something remotely approaching the truth, then the career you’re looking for is called "Journalism." It’s a fine career choice, but it isn’t fiction.

Which leads me to another common question I hear. "Is it OK if I write a character that’s really just me?"

That depends on what you mean by the word "OK." I doubt very much that you can sue yourself for libel or invasion of privacy if you write a character that is just you. (Again, I’m not a lawyer, so if you sue yourself and somehow win, then don’t blame me.)

I see several problems with writing a character that is just you:

• You may not be quite as interesting as your lead character needs to be.
• If you buff up your character to be "you plus a little extra," you may wind up looking egotistical.
• If you add in some traumatic backstory that never happened, your friends and family might get upset. * What will you do for an encore?

Let’s unpack each of these in turn.

Fiction is about characters in conflict. The characters are often a bit larger than life — in some cases, a LOT larger than life. Let’s face it. Although we writers are a talented bunch, most all of us aren’t quite as talented as the characters we create. We’d like to be, but we aren’t. We can’t afford to limit our characters to be no better than we are.

Suppose you write a lead character just like you in every way. Then, halfway through the novel, you realize that he needs to be quite a bit better than you are in some way. Maybe smarter. Maybe faster. Maybe cooler. Whatever. So you tweak him and finish the story and get it published. Now all your friends and family read the story and they see right away that your lead character is intended to be you. But they also see that he’s smarter than you are, or faster, or cooler. Naturally, they’re going to assume that you think you’re smarter, faster, or cooler than you actually are. That makes you look like an egomaniac. Is that what you want?

Suppose you write a lead character just like you in every way. Halfway through the novel, you need to explain why your character is afraid of electricity. You decide to make it plausible by adding in some backstory about being shocked with a cattle prod by an unstable mother. Now you’ve got problems, because it’s going to be "obvious" to everyone that your mother must have tortured you as a kid. If it’s not true, your novel could be construed as libel. If it’s true, your story could be considered invasion of privacy. Either way, your mother may just take you off her Christmas list.

Typically, publishers are interested in doing more than just one book with you. They invest quite a bit of money in developing an author, and it make take a few books to earn back that investment. Suppose you write a great novel in which your lead character is you. That’s wonderful, but who’ll play the starring role in your next book? You might be able to do a sequel that again features you as the lead. But can you keep that up forever? If not, then why get started down that road in the first place?

It’s perfectly OK to inject a bit of yourself in your characters. In fact, I recommend it for every character, even your villains. Give each of your characters some little snippet of yourself, whether it’s your tight-trigger temper or your obsession with stamps from Zimbabwe or your amazing skill at juggling buffalo chips.

You have plenty of interesting quirks and character traits to go around for every character you ever write. Your characters are like your children, and each of them should get some bit of your DNA.

My rule of thumb is that none of my characters should "inherit" more than about a third of their traits from me. I have no idea how much inheritance is too much, but I prefer to be cautious, so I try not to go over a third.

I’ve written several major characters who were physicists. Another was a software engineer, another an archaeologist, another a novelist. All of them shared a major interest with me. But I never thought of any of them as "me plus a little extra," because I’ve always started with somebody who was fundamentally different from me and then added chunks of myself. I think of my characters as "somebody I’d like to hang out with, because we have a major shared interest."

Now here are some questions you might want to consider for the novel you’re working on right now:

• How much does your lead character resemble you? Will your readers wonder if that character is secretly you? Is it possible that this character is more nearly your clone than your child? Does your character have some trait that makes it clear that he or she can’t possibly be you?
• How much of your DNA does your villain inherit? Is there nothing in your villain that you can relate to? Is it possible that you might be better able to empathize with your villain by giving him or her some valued trait of yours?

Fiction is a pack of lies that masquerades as truth. Don’t risk spoiling your carefully crafted lies with too much truth — or with too little.

Award-winning novelist Randy Ingermanson, "the Snowflake Guy," publishes the Advanced Fiction Writing E-zine, with more than 17,000 readers, every month. If you want to learn the craft and marketing of fiction, AND make your writing more valuable to editors, AND have FUN doing it, visit http://www.AdvancedFictionWriting.com.

Download your free Special Report on Tiger Marketing and get a free 5-Day Course in How To Publish a Novel.

The Journey of St. Laurent, Chapter 22

Author’s note:

I’m not completely happy with the chapter, but it’s just been so long since I posted, I just had to get something up and get rolling again.

For those of you who haven’t read any of the Journey Of St. Laurent before: You are now reading an online serial pulp novel. If you didn’t start at the beginning, you may want to do so. Chapter 1:  Down By The Bay. This serial is the sequel to my first novel, Oasis.

For all those wondering, things are going well with the new baby. If we can just figure out how to sleep a little more at night, things will be fantastic.

Thanks to everybody who commented or emailed me to wish us well:  Kristy, DarcKnyt, Elizabeth Himes (Whom we apparently named the baby after), Vanessa (DarcsFalcon), Blaine (Hi, Bishop), Jessie, girl, Glenn, Jade, Aunt Karen,DarcZombie, Aunt Ramona, Becky Reynolds (I think my cousin Becky – not sure of the married name), Jordan Johnson, schulte, GTDOC, Bart, Lucien Black, R. Garrett Wilson, RobSmith, and anybody else that I’ve missed. My wife and I have felt very loved and blessed through all of this. You guys are great.

Chapter 22 – New Arrival

Before Jenna could respond, the muffled shouting was broken by a muffled slap followed shortly by the muffled whump of something heavy hitting the floor.

I cringed. Yes, this is working out great. I could only hope that whatever fight was going on out there stayed out there, and that nobody got seriously hurt.

After all, Jenna and I had a baby to deliver.

Jenna told me which CD she wanted and I found it. I didn’t recognize the artist’s name, but the cover had a shirtless burly tattooed guy folding his arms and scolding the camera.

Once the music played it occurred to me that while I never would have called this particular flavor of hip-hop ‘relaxing’, it immediately put Jenna more at ease. As a matter of fact, the constant heavy beats soon put her in an almost trance-like state.

After a moment, the door eased open and the little sister stuck her head in. “I’ve, uh, got some water.”

“Great, bring it in and close the door. What’s your name again?”

“Kayla.”

Jenna looked up and almost smiled. “Hey, Kay.”

“Go ahead and hand it to your sister.”

Jenna took the cup and took a tiny drink, then handed it back to Kayla.

“One of your jobs is to make sure she takes a sip every couple of minutes, okay?”

Kayla’s eyes didn’t look so sure, but she nodded anyway.

“Good. Also, I need you to find Jenna something else she can wear, something she could give birth in while wearing. Like a big giant tee shirt.”

Jenna sat on the edge of her bed and sucked in again through her nose.

Another contraction. I wish I had a watch.

I put one hand on her shoulder, the other on her belly, and started counting in my head. One, two, three…

Jenna let out a deep moan.

Kayla turned from the open drawer, knelt down, and held Jenna’s hand.

Jenna’s face relaxed at her sister’s touch.

Twenty three, twenty four- “Keep breathing. You’re doing great, Jenna”. Twenty seven, twenty eight…

She nodded rhythmically, although not in time with the music. This contraction was night and day different from the last one. Jenna didn’t sound pained this time. She didn’t look scared. She simply appeared to be focused.

I got to forty five before the contraction subsided. That’s a pretty good length. Could be getting close.

“Good job. You’re doing great.”

Kayla let go and finished finding the tee shirt.

I turned around while she helped the birthing mother change. About the time they finished, another contraction hit.

I spun around and offered Jenna my arms.

She grabbed my forearms, rested her forehead against my shoulder, and let out a deep, growling moan.

That couldn’t have been more than three, three and a half minutes since the start of the last one.

I counted off the length of the contraction again as best I could. Again, it was somewhere between forty five and fifty seconds.

As soon as the contraction subsided, she mumbled a complaint about the heat and wanted to sit.

I spread a towel on her bed.

She sat and Kayla handed her the water.

“Kayla, before the next contraction comes around, I want you to run and get two washcloths. Get them wet with cool water. Also, tell your mother things are going really well. Ask her to find a shoelace and boil it in a pan of water for ten minutes. And her sharpest knife. Clean and boil that, too. I’ll send you back out for those later. Got all that?”

She nodded. “What’s the shoelace-”

I raised a hand. “Washcloths, thing are going well, shoelace, knife. Hurry.”

She got back just in time to put a washcloth on Jenna’s head and hold her hand through the next contraction.

It was amazing, almost magical. Despite the thump-thumping of the music and the mess, by looking at Jenna, you’d have thought the bedroom was about the most serene place in the world. She was calm, relaxed, and totally focused.

Kayla instinctively knew everything her sister needed for comfort, a pillow here, a very light back rub there, water every couple of minutes, and a pile of comforting words I’d never have thought to say.

Jenna switched positions about every ten minutes. Kneeling, standing, sitting, squatting, standing. We must have restarted the CD at some point. The sun flew toward the horizon. At some point, the shirt irritated Jenna and she pulled it off, leaving her wearing only a sports bra. Little by little the contractions lengthened, strengthened, and got closer together.

About the fifth time she sat on her bed she shook her head. “I can’t do this anymore. I need a break. Just ten minutes.”

I looked into her eyes. “You’re doing perfectly.”

“You don’t get it. I’m so tired. Can we go back to the hospital?”

It didn’t feel right to argue with the laboring woman. “Um, sure. Let’s just let you have that rest first. Then we’ll see what we can do.”

She shook her head. “So tired.”

“That’s just because your body has been working hard, and doing a great job.”

She took in a deep breath. “I feel like I should squat, but I’m too tired.”

I remembered a picture from one of the birthing books I had read a couple of years ago. “That’s okay. If you want to try, I’ll support you.”

Jenna stared for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s do that.”

I squatted with my back against the closet door frame. Jenna backed up to me. She squatted/half sat on my knees and I hooked my arms under her armpits. It was anything but comfortable for me, but she seemed just fine.

As soon as we settled into the supported squat, another contraction hit. Soon another, then another.

“I want to push. Can I push?”

“Do whatever your body tells you to do. If that’s push, then push.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I think I’m having her.”

My legs wobbled in the awkward position. “Reach down and see if you can feel the baby.”

She dropped her right hand between her legs and took a sharp breath. “It’s the top of her head.”

A jolt of adrenaline hit my system. This is it. “Perfect. You’re almost done. Kayla, grab a towel and put it down here on the floor. Looks like you’re going to have to catch the baby.”

Kayla’s eyes widened to about the size of personal pan pizzas. “But I ain’t no-”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll do great. Now get over here.”

She stepped over and shot a quick glance down, then blushed and turned away. “I’m not so sure I can.”

“I know you can. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’ve already been a huge help, and you’ll do great, just like your sister is doing.”

Another contraction swept over Jenna. She growled and hummed and eventually it faded.

I couldn’t see what had happened, but Kayla’s already enormous eyes seemed to pop from her head. And then she started to smile.

Jenna reached down again. “It’s her head.”

“Kayla, put a hand on the baby’s head near the neck. Once this next contraction hits, the rest of her will probably come out. And there’s going to be lots of other liquidy stuff that comes out too. Don’t worry about that.”

Another moment and then it hit. With a great whoosh the baby was out. Right behind her was a wave of amniotic fluid mixed with a bit of blood that splashed onto the floor and all over my legs.

Kayla beamed and held up the baby.

Jenna scooped the baby up to her chest.

My legs were on fire and shaking. “Let’s get you over to your bed.

Jenna smiled at the baby and shuffled across the room.

The baby let out a ear splitting wail.

It was one of the sweetest sounds I had ever heard. The loud cry meant good strong lungs.

Jenna sat and kissed the baby’s head. “We did it.”

Layla turned down the music.

The baby was covered with amniotic fluid, cheesy-looking vernix, and traces of blood. Her head was slightly cone shaped from being in the birth canal so long. Still, she was as beautiful as anything.

Someone pounded on the door.

I opened it just a crack. Sure enough, it was Nina and London.

“Baby’s here. Everything seems to be good. Get me that shoelace and the knife.”

Nina took off back down the hall.

London was pale, “Corbin. About the UFOs-”

“In a minute. Go see if you can get me a garbage bag or two.”

Jenna held the baby close, and the baby was calming down.

I smiled. No need to interrupt their bonding just yet. I scooted the towel on the floor around with my foot in an effort to clean up the mess.

Nina and London returned with the supplies, then we all just stared at the baby for a minute. There’s just something about a newborn baby that makes you feel all right. Even in a mesy room when the outside world is falling apart.

I sighed. Oh, well. The moment can’t last forever. I felt the chord. It wasn’t pulsing at all anymore.

It’s good to go. I cut the shoelace in half and used it to tie off a spot on the umbilical chord near the baby. Nobody else seemed interested, so I went ahead and cut the chord.

Jenna put a hand on her stomach. “It feels like another cont-” She winced. “Ooh.”

“These contractions are just tightening your uterus back to size. You’ll be pushing out the placenta soon.”I turned to Nina and London. “In fact, you two should go until we get done with this. There’ll be plenty of time to gawk and hold the baby later.”

London leaned in “You have to see what’s going on in DC-”

“I will.”

I ushered the two women out of the room, and turned around to see Jenna nursing the baby.

Another good sign.

She birthed the placenta about ten minutes later. I caught it along with another batch of blood and birth goop in the garbage bag.

After that, things got much simpler. I tore up one of the towels and explained that to Jenna that she’d be bleeding, albeit not much, for a while and she should use the pieces as pads until she was done.

All in all, mom and baby seemed to be doing really well, so it was time to let them rest for a while.

In the front room, everyone was focused on the television.

I handed the garbage bag to the teenage boy on the couch. “Here, go bury this in the back yard so it doesn’t stink up your trash.”

“Corbin.” London nodded and pointed to the TV.

I turned around saw what she had been in such a hurry to have me see.

As soon as I saw the image on the screen, the knot in my stomach hardened. Looks like the baby isn’t the only new arrival. This can’t be good.

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Keep reading! Chapter 23 is finally here!