Elements of Fiction-Characters

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

Throughout the next few months, I plan on doing Wiley Wednesdays that are focused on different elements of fiction. By doing this, I hope we can all learn a few things, and improve our writing (isn’t that the goal here?). Today I shall begin by talking about characters. I’ll be honest, you can have the most amazing plot in the world, but if I don’t connect with your characters, I won’t remember your story a month from now. We all want our characters to be remembered and loved, but to do that it takes time, patience and love. (Yes I said love, stop giggling and pay attention!)

Character – Any person or entity created in a fictional story.

There are many different ways and reasons to create a character. The protagonist is the main character that drives the action (Hello! That’s who the story is generally about), this is usually who we consider the good guy. You also need a character that opposes this person, like a villain. This is the antagonist, which in Greek literally means competitor, opponent or rival. Occasionally you’ll read a story from a different point of view and you’ll see the good guys as the antagonist.

So now you have two main characters to flesh out and create a story for. You’ll usually find you need others to help you along the way. This is where the supporting characters come from. They help move the plot along and can give clues and insight into your main characters.

Round and Flat characters

Your main characters are usually what would be called round characters. You’ve fleshed these characters out so well that they’re almost real. You know that they detest onions and have a secret passion for Belgium chocolate. They have good qualities and bad ones. They occasionally get caught up in their own internal conflicts and are just plain complex. Think Frodo Baggins or Sherlock Holmes.

Photobucket

There is another kind of character called a flat character. This is “the redneck” or “the con artist.” They have one or two traits and are pretty easy to figure out. You can usually sum them up in one sentence. “Gollum is driven to obsession by the One Ring he will forever try to recover.”

Photobucket

Dynamic and Static Characters

A dynamic character is one who undergoes a change. You see this alot in the coming of age stories. The protagonist starts out young and a bit naive, and by the end of the story they’ve had to grow up and they see life differently. The best example I can think of this is Harry Potter.

Photobucket

Static characters pretty much stay the same throughout the story. Their personalties are mainly unchanged and stable. Lots of main characters that are not the protagonist are static characters. Ysandre de la Courcel from Jacqueline Carey’s Kushiel’s Dart springs to mind when I think of a static character.

This wraps up today’s study on characters. I hope it may offer some insight and help with your characters a bit. Until next time my lovelies 🙂

~Dawn

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro; A review

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

I chose Never Let Me Go and one other book to study out of a list of twenty others because I’ve never been struck by book like this in my life before.

Ishiguro is more famous for writing The Remains of the Day which was met with mixed reviews just Never Let Me Go is. A feeling that life’s path is already set out for you and there’s nothing you can do but meekly follow what life expects is an uncomfortable issue for most people. Regardless of what we want to think, we are trapped by society, even the most free of us, we all need to work to live, we all get stuck in a terrible monotonous cycle of sustaining our existence. And this is why I believe some reviews are so negative, people see their own trapped acceptance of life in this book.

But what is it about? Well the story revolves around three main characters Kathy, Ruth and Tommy, all three are doomed to die young because they are clones existing purely to provide organs to keep non-clones healthy, at around 20 they become “donors” and continue to have their organs taken one by one in a very ghoulish manner until they “complete” which is what the clones call death, once clones have “completed” their remaining organs are harvested and given to ill non-clones. The reader follows Kathy’s narrative all through her life starting at the mysterious boarding school Hailsham (aptly named) which tries to fight for a better world for clones, better living conditions and treatment but most importantly trying to prove the clones had souls. We learn that this movement was very popular until a race of “super-children” was created which made the whole of society shove the clones back into the shadows in fear and disgust along with all other genetic engineering.

Kathy and Tommy make a weak attempt to avoid the fate waiting for them but ultimately they just sit back and accept that they are going to die. I find this acceptance to be the most powerful theme in book because I was practically screaming at the characters to run away, refuse to die or just do something. But they didn’t succeed, just as we never escape that cycle-like prison in life, their effort was small and now they accept death.

“This extraordinary and, in the end, rather frighteningly clever novel isn’t about cloning, or being a clone, at all. It’s about why we don’t explode, why we don’t wake up one day and go sobbing and crying down the street, kicking everything to pieces out of raw, infuriating, completely personal sense of our lives never having been what they could have been” ~ M.J. Harrison, The Guardian

So give it a read, chances are you’ll either hate it or find yourself touched by it.

~mlf

Fairy Tale: 2

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

Andi of Unhinged has decided to try her hand at an online series. Plotting, worrying, and over-thinking what she writes hasn’t worked out so well, so she’s going back to the way it was when she first began writing. She is totally winging the writing of this story, and has no idea where it’s going to go or how it’s going to end.

This is the second part. If you’re interested, the beginning is here.

~*~*~*~

The numbness spread as my heart slowed its push of blood through my veins.

There was–

–no pain.

Noth…ing left–

–no more…me.

Something touched my cheek.

GUH-GUNGH!

My spine arched–

GUH-GUNGH!

–as oxygen tore down my throat and filled my lungs with intense heat. I gritted my teeth against the pain of it, surprised that rebirth hurt when death had not.

GUH-GUNGH.GUH-GUNGH.

My heartbeats grew stronger, impossibly strong, until there was no pause between beats. No room to catch my breath, to swallow and soothe my burning throat. Teeth still clenched to keep from screaming, I curled over into a ball.

When I could think long enough to string two coherent thoughts together, I concentrated on slowing my heart again.

GUH-GUNGH…GUH-gungh…GUH-GUNGH!

It was more difficult than dying, but maybe that made sense. Living was supposed to be harder than death. Maybe this was another test to see if I was worthy. Anyone could die. Everyone died.

I tried to will my hyperventilation into submission. When I was twelve and obligated to demonstrate an example of Illyria’s Power before The Council, I’d had a panic attack and fainted. What I felt now was similar, and the memory made it impossible for me to control my breathing.

“Don’t fight it.”

Through the black wings beating at the corners of my mind, I heard the voice.

“Or do. And die for real this time.”

It had to be the troll who guarded the gold. Who else would have such a mellifluous voice, strong enough to soothe me in spite of the words he’d spoken?

Guh-gungh. Guh-gungh.

Why was he still here?

Why was he still alive?

Why was I?

A Gentleman’s Wager by Madelynne Ellis

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

A Gentleman's Wager (Black Lace) A Gentleman’s Wager is about the pains and pleasures of the regency period, set in the countryside during the winter season. The three main characters are: Bella, the flamboyant and exciting country lady; Lucerne, the bright young city landowner who refurbishes his country estate; and Vaughan, the dark and dangerous Marquis. Bella and Vaughan both desire Lucerne, doing their best to seduce him away from the other’s affections.

This book is, in a word, brilliant. It totally captivated me. A great example of what erotica should be – elegant yet depraved and utterly, deliciously morish. I deeply enjoyed the characters, all maintaining their unique personalities throughout and developing as well, which I was delighted with. The dialogue was wonderful and not too Jane Austin yet convincingly of the period. And, oh, the sex scenes was perfect. Some detailed, some blurred, it was masterful the way Madelynne Ellis knew which to use when, not one being cringe-worthy.

Unfortunately, the plot was a little too watery and clichĂ© for me to appreciate. As told in the title, the plot device is a bet between two men – a minor character Charles Aubrey and the wicked Vaughan – who wager on Vaughan’s ability to bed Louisa (Bella’s prudish best friend) and Bella. Countless books and movies have used this, and I was disappointed when I came to it but happily it didn’t detract to much pleasure from the rest of the novel.

There were also a few place that could have done with a little more research, such as what was eaten during the regency era. Sadly, Madelynne Ellis skims over most meals which is regrettable, as it could have enhanced the experience.

Overall, as I said, brilliant. If only the plot had more care, it would have reached five-stars. I have high hopes for Ellis’ sequel, Phantasmagoria and I will be on the look out for more works from this author. I give this book 4 out of 5.

Words in Context

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

Please note, the content of this post is, Adult Only.

The challenge Cont’d:

Welcome to my Wiley challenge. I have been working on poetry for the ‘Words, Words and more Words’, challenge that I laid down in my last Wiley post here, Words in Context. The challenge involved twelve set words being written in a poem or drabble (100 words).

I wrote three poems, the reason being, I wanted to show how different combinations of words can change the context of what has been written and also change the readers experience in each individual work, even though basically they say the same thing. I had a lot of fun writing these poems, playing with words and watching them evolve from the set twelve words into vibrant poems. I hope you enjoy reading and experiencing my efforts. 🙂

The list of twelve words that has to be in the writings is as follows:

Ivory
Flesh
Hunger
Seeking
Tongue
Wetness
Penetrate
Climax
Alive
Secret
Folds
Eager

Here are the poems I wrote for this challenge:

Pale moonbeams
Illuminate ivory flesh
Deep sleep elusive
Dreams penetrate the mind
Calling forth erotic hunger
Phantom tongue
Seeking wetness in
Eager secret folds
Shuddering climax
Alive!

Ivory flesh exposed
Body quiescent
Limbs still, expectant

Senses stirring
Dreams penetrate the mind
Freeing erotic hunger

Eager tongue; illusion or reality
Seeking wetness veiled
By secret folds

Exquisite pleasure budding
Climax overwhelming
Breathtaking…Alive!

Moonbeams falling on
Ivory flesh
Face stark in the glow
Limbs taut

Dreams of erotic hunger
Take flight
Tendrils of passion
Burning

Tongue sliding over
Wetness
Desperate to penetrate
Secret folds

Willing submission
Desire alive
Eager for fulfilment
Climax!

Not Alone

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

My new found delight in poetry is proving that subject matter is limitless, with new ideas constantly eager to be written. Friendship was the inspiration for this poem. At first I thought it would be light and airy, but it morphed into something deeper and took me by surprise, yet again.

Memories bite and sting
Resurrected fears
Crowd my mind

Thoughts of you
Stir wondrously
Suggesting hope is alive

From that land so distant
I dreamily imagine
Shining eyes on me

Gentle in their focus
Generous eyes, your eyes
Dispelling my dark fears

On Being a Hermit

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

I’ve written about finding a balance point before – about balancing a normal, healthy life with something as all-consuming as writing is for some. Well, for me. I’ve been to the extreme, isolated and alienated myself, even from the people closest to me, and found it wasn’t the best way to live my life. I love to write, but not enough to sacrifice living, experiencing. When you have great passion for something, I think this is a realistic problem. Look at the mad scientists and artists in history. They all have two things in common (well, three if you count madness – but that’s subjective, isn’t it?): passion, and isolation.

I don’t think the two necessarily go hand in hand, but there’s a definite connection. Passion can lead to obsession, and obsession can lead to isolation, via means of blotting out everything else. The other extreme would perhaps be the writer or artist or other passionate hobbiest who never ‘gets around’ to creating their masterpiece, or even delving into their passion fully. Maybe because they’re blocked, or maybe because they just have too many other things to do. But I’m not here to talk about extremes. I’m contemplating the happy middle ground.

When is it okay to shut out the world? When is it necessary? And how do you know when you’re begin to focused on yourself and pouring too much into that passion at the detriment of those around you?

I don’t pretend to have answers. Quite the contrary, I’m wondering what you all think.

Personally, I try to juggle a lot of things. (As I’m sure most of us do.) And I often find I reach a maximum capacity for the ‘others’ that take me away from my passion. The artist inside gets antsy, and flexes her pinchers, eventually snapping at anyone and anything that is in between me and my writing shell. Sometimes, I just need crawl inside and close the door behind me. Some of my best work comes from being cloistered in my happy writing place, undisturbed.

But life goes on outside. I don’t want to miss it.

How do YOU find a balance?

The Night Is A Harsh Mistress, Chapter 10

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

Rachel woke to Viktor’s face inches from her own. “Wake up!” he snapped, and her cheek stung.

“Did you just slap me?”

“Rachel!” The relief in his voice sounded odd, out of character. Then she blinked.

“What are you doing here?”

“Come on,” Viktor said unhelpfully, and leaned forward. Before she could protest, she was in his arms. He strode through the living room with its ivory carpet and glass and steel furniture. He got to the door and started to open it.

“Wait! Viktor! What’s going on?”

He turned slightly to angle her through the door and she saw a body on the floor of the hallway. A semi-automatic pistol lay inches from his limp hands, but even with the body face down, Rachel recognized him. “Steve!”

Viktor was through the door and into the hallway before Rachel realized she was losing time. Her head felt thick, like it was stuffed with sand, and her stomach burned. “What happened?” she managed to get out.

Viktor made a strange noise in his throat, almost like a growl, and yanked the door to the stairwell open. Then they were below the building and she heard the chirp of a car alarm. Viktor jostled her as he got the door to a red-brown Jaguar XK open. He laid her gently on the seat , protecting her head, and she blinked up at him in confusion. “What is going on?”

“Shh,” he shot back and shut the door in her face.

The interior of the car smelled spicy, like his cologne, with a faint overlay of the cigarettes he liked. It was a surprisingly comforting scent and she found herself relaxing like putty into the seat.

“We’re here,” he told her, waking her.

She stirred and blinked out at the night, the streetlights brighter than usual. They seemed edged with purple and she blinked, her stomachache swelling. “I don’t feel well,” she complained.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Viktor agreed with some note of anger or something else in his voice. He pushed himself out of the car and slammed the door, then appeared next to her to pick her up again.

“I can walk!” she protested.

“Sure you can. Hush,” he said down at her, a gentle expression in his eyes disappearing so fast that she wondered if she’d imagined it.

He made it all the way to her office without anyone seeing them and let himself in with her keys, produced from a pocket.

“My purse!” she blurted.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got your wallet and keys. The rest is gone, but the important stuff is here.”

‘How would you know what’s important?’ she almost asked but didn’t. He laid her on the couch and the nausea intruded insistently.

“I think I need to throw up,” she gasped, mortified.

He swore and started to help her up but the wave hit so fast it took her breath. He snatched her trash can from near the desk and she used that as a receptacle, wishing he would disappear.

When she was finally done, she collapsed against the couch. He set the can down and turned back to her.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded.

“What?” she responded, trying to keep her eyes open.

He laid a hand on her forehead and snarled, “You’re feverish. God, Raych, what were you thinking?”

“What are you talking about, Viktor?”

“Going out with a strange man like that!” he shouted, hurting her ears.

She laughed, it was so unexpected. “Viktor, this is 2008!”

“And he’s one of Krichoff’s men!” he yelled.

“Don’t shout, please,” she winced, and then heard what he said. Her eyes popped open. “What are you saying?”

He stared at her angrily and then stepped away. He motioned toward her desk and it took her a moment to take it in.

All her case files were scattered around the carpet, the file cabinets open and empty. Her desk drawers lay on the floor, clearly having been gone through as well. Her computer gaped, its hard drive missing.

Viktor kneeled in front of her and took her arm to shake her roughly. “You could have been killed, you little fool!”

The shaking proved too much for her head. The dizziness swelled and she blinked at Viktor dully. “Viktor
”

His expression changed, that gentleness she’d seen earlier appearing again. As she fell forward into his arms, he lifted her and sat down on the couch with her in his lap. “It’ll be okay, Raych. You got rid of most of it, and I gave you something that will help wit the dizziness. Just relax, let your body recover.”

She wanted to ask him what he was talking about but couldn’t muster any awareness to speak to him. Between one though and the next, she slid into sleep, or dreams. It was hard to tell the difference.

Thoughts on ‘The Vein of Gold’ by Julia Cameron

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

I recently completed a book about f inding your creativity, ‘The Artist’s Way’ by Julia Cameron. I enjoyed it immensely and learned a lot; about myself, about letting go and pampering my ‘inner child’ and most importantly, about doing the things I really want to do.

With this in mind, I am excited to begin another of her books, ‘Vein of Gold’. The author describes the ‘Vein of Gold’ in all of us as where we find our greatest creativity. We may be successful writers in many genres, comedy, angst, biography, but we all have our special niche where we do our ‘best work’, and that is our ‘vein of gold’.

She uses the actress Merle Streep as an example. Ms. Streep has done excellent work in comedy (Death Becomes Her), musicals (Momma Mia) and suspense (Silkwood), but it is in her portrayals of ‘tragic women’ that we find her ‘luminous’. The grieving mother in ‘Sophie’s Choice’ is one of her best performances. No one would argue that her ‘vein of gold’ is to be found playing these tormented characters.

Is this to suggest that she limit herself to this narrow field of films? Definitely not. I believe any actress would become bored with the same type of part each time she worked, (as would we of watching her perform them as well). Variety is a good thing, for artist and viewer alike. But when we hear of a new drama starring Merle Streep, we know we are going to see something excellent and enjoyable because these movies are her greatest strength, her ‘vein of gold’ if you will.

Bearing this in mind, Ms. Cameron sets out to help us find our own ‘vein of gold’ in our chosen field of creativity by helping us find ourselves. She suggests writing ‘morning pages’, three hand-written pages each day to help you clear your mind. As you write these ‘pages’ consistently, you find that they will clear your mind, help you vent your frustrations and find those lurking fears, feelings and angers that your ‘conscious’ mind has been trying to sublimate. They are like a sounding board, or a very close friend that you can tell anything to. These are not to be seen by anyone else and are therefore a safe and sacred place to lay it all on the line, to be yourself and to express those things that you are afraid to let others, including your close friends, see.

A walk a day is another tool suggested in the course. Twenty minutes a day, walking indoors or out, city or country it doesn’t matter where. The actual act of walking, the repetitious movement of body can be soothing in and of itself. The scenery along your path is to be enjoyed as well, the fragile rosebud on your neighbor’s rosebush, the brightly colored house around the corner and the lazy cat on the large porch you pass are all fodder for creativity, be you a writer, a painter or a musician.

The smell of the rain on the hot cement, the sound of a lawnmower and the smell of the barbecue down the street can inspire you as well. The noise of jackhammer and construction workers can be just as wonderful as the quieter sounds of suburbia or the country. Neighbors yelling in the apartment next door, the sound of taxis whizzing by on a busy street and the distant wail of a police siren are fertile images to be used in your art as well.

My first thought was that I didn’t have time for these daily walks, and in truth, I don’t. But I forced myself to make the time, and have found that I miss them on those busy days when I choose to do other more pressing things. They are like a personal treat, to myself and my ‘inner artist’, and I have found reasons ‘to do’ them; quiet time to wind down after work and before sleeping, spending time with my kids, exercising the dog, exercising myself. Funny how a change in attitude makes something ‘needful’ instead of a chore.

In the first chapter of our journey of self discovery, we are asked to write a self history. The author suggests writing about your life in five year increments, 1-5 years, 5-10, and so on. Include favorite friends, toys, games, where you lived and your family members. These memories will help you not only get these things down on paper but allow you to analyze your feelings about the events that made you the person you are today.

For instance, your parents may still describe the ‘long awaited and wonderful’ move to that new house in the suburbs when you were a child, and you have been blinded by their feelings on the subject. Maybe on closer inspection of your memories you were angry at having to leave your old friends and school. It might not have been a ‘happy’ decision for you. Include these observations, they are important.

This exercise will hopefully jog some memories that you had forgotten, some exciting, joyful, or even painful things that have been pushed to the back of your mind. These events might be used in understanding yourself and in your writing, essentially ‘mining’ your life for inspiration.

There are further exercises to help you find your own personal ‘vein of gold’, that niche where you do your best creating. There are seven ‘kingdoms’ to progress through on your journey of self and I have barely scratched the surface of the first chapter in this article. I am looking forward to the other chapters, it has been a rewarding trip so far and it’s only just begun.

The Night Is A Harsh Mistress, Chapter 9

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

The Night Is A Harsh Mistress, Chapter 9
by A. Catherine Noon

Steve stood in the small waiting area to the left of the hostess station, wearing a dark green shirt that highlighted the peridot of his eyes. His black pants highlighted other things that she decided to ignore.

“Hi, Sara,” he greeted warmly. “Shall we?”

Dinner passed in a blur. She ordered something with a white sauce and chicken, but focused most of her attention on Steve. He had an engaging smile and an avid curiosity. She listened through their entrees to a varied discussion of current events and music. Then came time for dessert.

“Okay, Sara. I’ve talked for nearly the entire time. Tell me about you? What do you do, when you’re not waiting in traffic?”

She thought for a moment and then smiled. “Shall we order something first?”

“Of course! I thought you’d never ask.”

They negotiated about several of the items on the dessert list and settled on a chocolate lava cake and two cappuccinos. He sat back in his chair once the waitress took their menus and studied her.

“Well, I’m a private investigator,” she told him. She’d decided to be honest on that front, at least, even though she’d given him a fake name.

“Really?” His eyebrows shot up. “What’s that like?”

She laughed. “Boring, mostly. I collect information and sort through it.”

“You must learn a lot of interesting things about people,” he countered.

She shook her head. “Not really. Mostly spousal problems. It’s not a very pretty job. I do security consultation as well, but that part of my business is going slowly.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. He picked up his wine glass. “To success in your business.”

She smiled and clinked his glass with her own. “To success.”

After dessert they took a walk along the district, window-shopping. After a couple blocks, he slipped his hand into hers. “I’m getting tired of walking, I think.”

She looked up at him. “We can go back.”

“I have an espresso maker,” he said casually.

Her heart started to pound. “I like espresso. Usually as a mocha, though.”

He grinned. “I happen to have milk and cocoa, you know.”

“Okay,” she agreed shyly.

“Shall I drive?”

She thought about it. Her car would be safe for the night where it was. “Sure.”

They didn’t speak much on the drive back to his condo. It wasn’t far from downtown. The building was quiet, a lone doorman in a black uniform at the front desk. He greeted them silently, smiling and discreet, and she wondered if Steve often brought women home.

Then she wished she hadn’t thought that.

His condo was on the top floor, twelve flights up. It overlooked the city, the lights spread out beneath them like a blanket of stars. He set the living room lights on a dimmer so they could still see outside. The carpet was a light ivory color and set off the brown leather of the couch. A glass-topped coffee table sat in front of the couch, and a large plasma monitor centered on the wall opposite. A low credenza below it held gleaming entertainment equipment and several volumes. The kitchen counter to the right overlooked the living room and a closed door on the left led to the rest of the condo.

“This is nice,” she complimented.

He smiled, pleased, but said nothing. He left his shoes by the door and she mimicked him. He went to the kitchen to start the espresso machine and she sat on the couch, looking out on the cityscape and relaxing.

“Here you go.” He spoke from next to her elbow, startling her a little.

She took the small cup gratefully and sipped. “This is great!” she blurted. It had just the right mix of chocolate and coffee.

“Good,” he answered, and sat down next to her. He set his coffee on the table and laid his other hand along the back of the couch behind her.

Her heart started to pound as he leaned closer to her. She set her cup down as his lips brushed hers, managing to find the table by luck alone.