Identity Crisis

I'm a very visual person and I just can't seem to find the right look for this blog. I love color -- and by that I don't mean shades of beige -- so bear with me while I audition new layouts. I'm looking forward to this color neurosis being over ;)

Update:

Ahhh. This feels more like me!

Omniscient Narration

The mental image I had of Lisbeth Salander as I read The Girl With The Dragon Tatoo looked nothing like the girl on this book cover. I saw her vividly though, as clearly as if she were sitting across from me, riding downtown in the same subway car. Author Stieg Larsson did a wonderful job describing her appearance, and his characterizations were strong. So why didn't I ever feel a sense of intimacy with her?

I think the problem was Larsson's use of omniscient narration. When more than one character's inner thoughts and feelings are coming at me from the same page, I feel like I'm floating above the book. It's like watching the scenes unfold shoulder-to-shoulder with God, rather than from out the eyes of a character. Lisbeth Salander was a character I wanted badly to connect with, but I never really got there. Too many POVs stood between us.

My favorite books employ multiple POVs, but their success hinges on the fact that the authors allowed only one character-narrator per chapter. "The Witching Hour" by Anne Rice comes to mind. Rice shares the POV between several characters, two of which are central players Michael Curry and Rowan Mayfair. As each chapter filters through the perspective of one of these characters, the reader develops a strong, intimate bond with him or her. After reading that book, I felt closely connected to all the characters.

I've never attempted omniscient narration in my own writing. My short stories tend to be third person limited or first person narration. The novel I'm working on switches POV at the beginning of each new chapter.

What POV narration options do you prefer to write in?

~Wanda~

I smelled Wanda's perfume the rest of that summer day. It'd permeated the fibers of my shirt and the wall around my heart that protected me from her vicious attacks. Each time the spicy, floral scent wafted up I was transported back to her embrace, back to her words...I have breast cancer...back to her apology for all the terrible things she'd said about me. My unsolicited enemy was now my friend. I couldn't stop thinking about her.

We spent a long time talking outside the elementary school just before Christmas vacation, after we'd applauded our fourth graders' first semester academic achievements. I complimented how pretty she looked in the auburn wig she wore. She fingered the ends with lengthy, French-manicured nails and told me she missed her blond hair. She was getting better though, she said. Her health was returning, no thanks to her ex-husband. In typical Wanda fashion, she spent the next twenty-five minutes talking trash about her ex, how cruel he was to her, how he'd refused to help her in any way through her treatments. I just want to be happy, that's all. Just me and the kids, happy. Her words haunt me.

Four weeks later, Wanda was discovered dead in her apartment. I heard the news as if sitting on the bottom of a pool, the weight of the water pressing down on me, muffling the words. Details bobbed and floated below the surface of my comprehension. A friend was saying they'd found her alone, her body, so the police couldn't rule out suicide or murder. I blinked hard, remembering back to earlier in the day. It was 8:30 a.m. and I was on my way to the gym. I came around the corner lost in my thoughts of how I'd organize my day. Movement caught my eye, and I turned my head as I passed Wanda's house. Her ex-husband, now sole resident of the place, was in the driveway, gesturing enthusiastically at me. He beamed as he waved; I returned the greeting as I drove on.

I could see that giant smile in my mind's eye, and the hair on my arms stood up.

A few days have passed now, and I still can't believe she's gone. That space she took up on the sidewalk opposite me feels empty when I picure her, standing there a few short weeks ago in a long brown leather coat and high heeled boots. She was a tiny woman, especially after enduring chemotherapy, but she was larger than life. Her insecurities drove her to dress provocatively, to stand too erect, to apply evening appropriate make-up during the day, to push back when someone, real or imagined, pushed first. Her personality wasn't compatible with mine, but our energies drew us together. If she was in the same restaurant or school gymnasium or at the pool, I was hyper-aware of her. There wasn't anything obsessive about it, but there was something connecting us. I feel it still.

I wonder at the impact Wanda made on me, and why we shared that enigmatic connection. There is a lesson in our story, and as I work through its meaning I celebrate her in my heart. She died young, before her bumpy road smoothed out. I find comfort in the belief that her objectives for this lifetime were met, and that she's again Home and at peace.

From The Lips Of...Amanda Watson

Today's guest blogger is a main character in the work-in-progress novel entitled "Overcome." Amanda Watson is the best friend and sidekick of the protagonist, Julie Knotts. She and Julie met when Julie's family moved next door when the girls were ten years old. At the time, Julie's family was reeling from the sudden death of Julie's younger sister, the victim of an accidental drowning. Amanda knows better than anyone the burdens her friend has struggled with ever since, but right now her energies are focused elsewhere. [Note: The following is NOT an excerpt from the novel. Rather, it is a creative writing exercise to help me capture her voice.] Yesterday (Friday), I "took" Julie to the mall. Here were her impressions:

There's something about the mall that lifts my spirits. The air itself is charged with an electricity that hums through me, and I'm not be the only one. I couldn't believe all the smiling faces! People walked with purpose and a skip in their strides, especially those with brightly colored plastic bags dangling from their arms and bouncing against their legs with each step. Maybe it's the scent of new clothes that intoxinates the masses, subconsciously calling upon childhood excitement reminiscent of the first day of a new school year. Or maybe my perception was just plain distorted. Being so crazy in love will do that to you.

I caught my reflection in Ann Taylor Loft's plate glass window as I approached the mall's main entrance. I swear I saw the diamond sparkle on my hand as I passed by. How is it possible that even its monochromatic reflection is gorgeous?

I entered the mall at the food court, a massive atrium with potted trees whose top branches reach the second level. Over the din of the crowded area I heard the birds that fly freely in the canopy twitter and chirp to each other.

I needed to visit the restroom first thing, so I headed in that direction. Walking toward me was the most beautiful little girl I've ever laid eyes on. She was tiny, perhaps three years old, though I'm a terrible judge of children's ages. She was dressed in a brown jumper with cream-colored tights and a matching turtleneck underneath. Her thin legs appeared more narrow by the chunky, camel-colored, Uggs-style boots on her feet. Her hair was the same light brunette as mine, and her mother (I presume) had gathered up the top-most section in an elastic and finished the hairstyle off with a large red bow. I couldn't take my eyes off her as she trotted along a few paces in front of her mother. I wondered what my and Paul's children will look like? An electric tingle shot through me following that thought. I realized how widely I was smiling.

I left the restrooms a few minutes later and headed toward Nordstrom's. I hoped there'd be reasonably priced dresses on the after-Christmas sales racks. It's funny; I've never been one to look at price tags when I need something new, never counted pennies before. But now that I have the wedding to plan, and a life ahead of me that promises a new home, children to raise, and college funds to plan for, I've noticed a shift in my priorities. For example, I don't want to spend a lot of money on a fancy dress for the benefit I have to attend next weekend. I rarely dress up to that extent; it's not like I attend a gala every other week. I'd rather put my money toward the important things in life, like my future.

I was enjoying these musings and thinking about Paul when the first kiosk worker stepped in my path. I almost stumbled into him. I politely declined the offer to test the sea salt exfoliater he tried pumping into my hand, but he wasn't easily dissuaded. The mall shouldn't allow those people to pester shoppers. There ought to be a square on the floor, a perimeter they can't cross, so that I'm not obligated to actually sidestep their persons.

It happened three times between the food court and Nordstrom's, the anchor store on the far end of the mall. I may have lost my mojo mood completely had it not been for the sight of all the little children playing in Simon Kidgits Klubhouse. An open-air romper room of sorts, it occupies a stretch in the middle of the mall corridor that has been sectioned off, fortified by benches on all four sides. Within the low wall of benches, colorful carpeting runs underneath climbing toys in the shapes of cars and dinosaurs. In the center is a clubhouse with gadgets and gears mounted on the walls, stimulating children's hand-eye coordination. Mothers chatted with one another, a vigilant eye always on their little tikes, and snapped pictures of the children's antics. My smile was back. I glanced down at the diamond shimmering on my finger, and daydreams of good times to come again flooded my mind.

I attracted the attention of a sales associate the moment I crossed the threshhold at Nordstrom's. When she asked me what I was shopping for, I surprised myself. Instead of inquiring about a sale on dresses, I asked on which floor I'd find children's clothes.

A Motivational Letter to Myself

January, 2010







I sit here calmly typing away, but inside I’m bursting with excitement. An exhilaration I can’t explain has taken hold of me, a promise of big things on the horizon. It’s a thrill, a delicious sensation of anticipation, like speeding down a stretch of elevated interstate as it passes through an urban forest of skyscrapers. Where it's coming from, this current of energy pulsating through me, I don’t know.

What I do know is I have to channel the energy, or I’ll explode.

Writing has become my true passion. Prior to joining Writing.com I enjoyed journaling and poetry writing. It was when I started writing for an audience, in late 2007, that my life changed. I used to write when inspiration hit me; now I write every day. But a daily writing practice isn't enough. I need to optimize my writing time to reach my 2010 goals.

The time has also come to address a pitfall in my creativity. When I’m called away from the computer to wear another of my many hats: mother, wife, household manager, I’m still writing. For example, I can be bodily present at the dinner table while my mind drifts away, lost in the heady mist of my thoughts, disconnected from my husband and kids. I must find a balance between my creative life and my family life, because both are vital to my happiness.

So here's the plan to harness my energy and move forward in my craft. In 2010, I commit to these writing goals:

The project I choose to concentrate on this year is my novel, the rough draft of which I wrote during November’s NaNoWriMo. The novel as a genre is fascinating; the process is decidedly different than writing short stories. I realize how much I have to learn. Will the book be a publishable story one day? It doesn’t matter, at this point. I’m after the accomplishment of completing the final draft of a manuscript. In order to do that, I’ll have to make some tough decisions.

My daily WDC experience is very important to me, but I'm guilty of over-extending myself by taking on too many commitments. I belong to a long list of wonderful groups, all of which serve our community. I've decided I can only remain active in two at this time. I've chosen The Rising Stars program (I was thrilled to be promoted by Gabriella Loves RisingStars ! to Group Leader last spring) and the Circle of Sisters (I was honored with an invitation to join this past autumn). I love reviewing, and my affiliation with these two groups encourages a regular review practice vital to my own progress as a writer and the continued growth of the WDC community.

In addition, I’ll continue to moderate and judge the "Young Stars Shine Your Light Contest" , a contest close to my heart because it touches the writing lives of WDC’s youngest members and supports them as they improve their craft. I wish someone had encouraged me to become a serious writer when I was a teenager!

I plan to continue publishing bi-monthly group emails to "Teen Writers Info-Sharing Team (TWIST)" members. I believe in promoting WDC contests, groups, forums, activities and fundraisers geared toward young writers and the pursuit of writing excellence.

It’s with a heavy heart, and after weeks of deliberation, that I have decided to close "Nicki D-Zigns Sig & Banner Shop ~OPEN~" . The time commitment in maintaining the shop is simply too great, and I squander precious writing time searching the Internet for images and designing eye-catching texts. I will not delete the shop, as I envision re-opening it for special occasions until a time when I can again dedicate myself to its success.

I do my best writing when the house is quiet. Therefore, my principal time blocks are 7 a.m. – 9 a.m., and 11 a.m. – 3 p.m. I'll devote the first block to WDC, when I check my emails and interact with my groups. Between 9 a.m. and 11 a.m. I'm in the gym, where inspiration often strikes me on the treadmill. Thank goodness for the notepad feature on my cell phone!

Between 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. each day I’ll work on the novel. There will be days when appointments and holidays interrupt the schedule, so it’s paramount that I write diligently on the days I’m able. The design wall I’ve installed behind the monitor inspires me already, and adding images cut from magazines, “idea” notes, song lyrics, postcards, and newspaper clippings will keep me visually stimulated as I write.

I’ve begun to use my blog to experiment with writing styles and descriptive voices. My posts fall into two genre categories: Creative Nonfiction and Fiction.

The Creative Nonfiction entries focus on what I call ‘captured moments’ from my daily life, usually featuring my family and an incident that stirred my soul or taught me a lesson in humanity. I concentrate on vivid descriptions, fluid brush strokes to cover the story canvas, so that the reader experiences each moment as I did.

I’ve already become more in tune with the world around me through this exciting practice. And its benefits are two-fold: I believe it will encourage me to be more present when I’m with my family. Rather than retreating into the fiction of my mind, I’ll have my author’s eyes trained outward, capturing the precious moments unfolding before me and reveling in the essence of my family life, to be archived forever.

I'm equally enthusiastic about blogging in fiction. It began with an epiphany. I realized how much better I got to know a character each time I thrust him or her into new or challenging scenario. This led to an interesting idea: Once a week I'll give my blog over to a character from my novel. First, I’ll take the featured character on a short outing, to the grocery store, the gym, the mall, or a walk around the neighborhood. Concentrating on what I already know about the character, I’ll see the world through his or her eyes, recording his or her perceptions, actions, and reactions. Then, I’ll write the blog entry as the character, not me, and describe the adventure in his or her voice.

Like everything I've written, these goals were conceived as inspired thoughts. By virtue of fingers striking keys, they are now as concrete as any living thing. 2010 is here, and my plans are underway. The energy humming through me is palpable. It’s time to get in the driver’s seat of my life, and the goals underlined in this letter are my vehicle.

Now, go.

Lots of Love,

Human Personality Traits and Character Development

The more you know about your character, the better your reader will understand and identify with him. The character’s name and physical appearance are important and will help the reader visualize the character you’ve created. But how the character speaks, moves his body, thinks, acts and reacts is what makes the character come alive in the reader’s imagination. Capturing the essence of your character is one of the challenges you must overcome to achieve a story that is engaging and entertaining.

For inspiration, some writers turn to personality profile typing charts. Leaders in the field of psychology have studied human behavior and determined that people fall into personality categories based on how they systematically act and react to social situations. Two such researchers were the mother and daughter team of Katharine Cook Briggs and Isabel Briggs Myers.

Myers and Briggs developed the MBTI, a psychometric questionnaire consisting of seventy-five yes/no questions based on Carl Jung's theories on human personalities. They first published it in 1962. A taker’s answers are tabulated and indicate which of the sixteen personality types the taker falls into.

I have taken the MBTI test several times over the past couple years, and every time I’m typed as ENFJ (Extraverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Judging). To give you an idea of how the personality types can inspire your characterizations, listen to how an ENFJ character would be described: Warm, empathetic, responsive, and responsible. Highly attuned to the emotions, needs, and motivations of others. Find potential in everyone, want to help others fulfill their potential. May act as a catalyst for individual and group growth. Loyal, responsive to praise and criticism. Sociable, facilitate others in a group, and provide inspiring leadership. My wheels are turning already; aren’t yours?


To take the Myers Briggs Test yourself, Click Here

To read a description of each of the sixteen personality traits, Click Here


David Keirsley, PhD also studied human behavior. His description of the Four Temperaments of the human psyche gained him international acclaim. He, too, devised a test to determine personality types called The Keirsey Temperament Sorter®-II (KTS®-II). According to his website, “(The KTS-II) is the most widely used personality instrument in the world. It is a powerful 70 question personality instrument that helps individuals discover their personality type. The KTS-II is based on Keirsey Temperament Theory™, published in the best selling books, Please Understand Me® and Please Understand Me II, by Dr. David Keirsey.” Keirsley claims every person falls into one of four temperament categories: The Guardians, The Idealists, The Rationals, or The Artisans.

[I took The Keirsey Temperament Sorter on 1/12/2010, and was typed an Idealist. In paranthesis were the letters (NF), or "Intuited Feeling." This is exactly in line with my results for the MBTI: (ENFJ).]


To learn about each temperament, Click Here

And to take the KTS-II, Click Here


Exploring personality types is a fascinating way to create and develop fictional characters. Let the type descriptions spark your imagination, lead you down unexpected storylines, and inspire you to write authentic, life-like characters.

Kindness

This weekend set in motion my focus for the week to come.

Mornings are my best time of day. I'm energetic, happy, and look forward to participating in the unfurling day. An habitual early-riser, I was at my computer before the sun came up on Saturday morning, my fingers flying across the keyboard, giving life to an inspired stream of thoughts. I jumped at the voice of my daughter standing at my shoulder. I hadn't heard her come in.

"Mommy," Sidney began. "I want--"

Donuts, I thought, as the word sailed out of her mouth a nanosecond later.

My son, Cody inherited a lot of my genes: my looks, my temperment, suseptibility to headache and teeth-grinding, and my love for writing. But Sidney got my sweet tooth. In fact, she got Cody's share too. Double dose.

While the boys slept, Sid and I headed to the grocery store. I'm clinging to the diet wagon and refuse to fall off before my trip to New York at the end of the month, so we only picked out a couple donuts for each of the three of them. When we got home, Sidney tiptoed through the silent house like an elephant crashing through the brush, and within minutes the boys were awake. The promise of fresh donuts brought Christian and Cody to the kitchen in time to see the last bite of Sidney's first donut disappear behind glaze-smeared lips.

Cody chose one of the two donuts his sister announced were "his," a blue-iced affair with a face of gummy ring eyes and a red licorice smile. He ate it slowly, putting it down on his plate between bites. By about Cody's fourth bite, Sidney finished her other donut. She eyed him suspiciously when he declared he was full and excused himself from the table, leaving a half-eaten donut behind. He shouted "No!" over his shoulder when she asked if she could eat his second one.

The next day when I asked the kids what they wanted for breakfast, Cody was all smiles. "I'll eat my donut!" he said cheerfully. I looked over at Sidney, her arms hanging at her sides like a cut flower's wilted petals in a five-day-old bouquet. She was staring half-heartedly at the short row of cereal boxes on a pantry shelf. Cody followed my gaze.

"Little S," he said, "you can have half my donut, if you want."

Sidney and I both said, "Really?"

I was so proud of him! He wasn't prompted or goaded, except by an innate desire to do the right thing. And the look on Sidney's face was priceless. She went from partly cloudy to sunny in less than the blink of an eye. I hugged them each tight.

When I came back to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee an hour later, the kids were playing a collaborated game involving Bionicle robots and Littlest Pet Shop bobble heads. Their voices trilled with genuine happiness as the bizarre cast of characters interacted with indiscriminate ease. I stood there a minute, in awe of them. As if I'd made a sudden noise, they both looked up.

"What's wrong?" they asked.

I told them how wide my heart smiles when I see them getting along so well. And I pointed out that Cody's act of kindness in sharing his donut with Sidney started them both on a path of friendliness and high spirits. After all, if Cody had been stingy and not shared his donut, Sidney would have watched him eat with envy and resentment. She'd probably have delighted in needling him at every turn, irritated him to the best of her ability all morning. The day was more enjoyable because everyone felt the positive effects of Cody's action.

I was interpreting a life lesson for them, but I was teacher and student at the same time. Once again, my kids were a mirror reflecting life in its purest form, reminding me how we should act. The power of kindness overwhelmes all else; its light douses the darkness. You may not see all its effects, but if you tune in to the world around you, you will feel it.

Lesson learned, again. Thanks, kids!