Looking Like People

"Your characters talk and act like people, but they don't look like people," my fiction writing class told me last week.  This constructive criticism has stuck in my head since then. 

It's true: I rarely describe the physical features of my characters.  Maybe it's because even though I'm a visual learned I struggle to describe real people much less made-up people.  There are almost a million 5'4" girls with light brown hair.  Maybe it's because I find writing physical description to be boring.  "Her dyed red hair fell in her face covering her hazel eyes" lameness.  Maybe it's because when I'm reading I envision the characters my own way and don't like being told I'm wrong.
"But we want to see the characters the way you see them," my professor told me.

My question is: Does it matter?  If it's vital that a character has curly, dark brown hair looks like she jumped out of a Jane Austen novel, then, yes, of course I'll mention it.  But does every character, or even the main character, need to be accompanied by a physical description?

Elizabeth says yes.  Otherwise they're just voices.
Nikki says she's stop reading if they weren't described.
Without looking up from the book she was reading, Amy nodded.

I remember as a fourth grader reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe before watching the movie.  Afterwards, the teacher asked us what we thought.

One student (I wish it was me...) said, "I liked the pictures in the book better."

I gave my protagonist strawberry blonde hair just to appease my classmates.  But deep down inside I wonder.  Does it matter to you if you know I'm so skinny I disappear if I turn sideways, my hands are so chapped they're bloody, and my not-quite-shoulder-length dirty blonde hair spends a majority of it's time in a three-quarters pony tail?

<>< Katie

The Brownie

Yesterday, Dr. Johnson (of the science department) threw a brownie with green frosting to Chelsea.  Today said Key Lime Brownie made an appearance in our fiction writing class.  Chelsea gave it to Logan.  Logan gave it to me and told me he made it himself.  I asked how he wrapped it in plastic and left it on Dr. Vance's desk.  Saxon decided he wanted to eat said brownie.

Chomp.

Chew.

Chew.

Chew.

"That was disgusting!  It was like coconut.  Yeah, very bad choice."

Dr. Vance refused to eat the remainder of the brownie.  At the end of class, the brownie missing one bite was still sitting on the desk.

"Somebody's going to have to take care of that," Dr. Vance said.

"That was a very bad decision," Saxon repeated.

The class concluded the brownie made out of ginkgo tree berries and injected with poison.  Dr. Johnson knew Saxon would eat the poisonous brownie, thus making him incapable of playing kickball.  He knew Dr. Vance would not refuse a brownie and the poison would make the English department short two vital kickball players.  In the rule book we write, we will have to make sure distributing poisonous brownies is illegal.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when you give a key lime, coconut brownie to a Fiction Writing class...

When the story got back to Dr. Johnson, he was amused.  He said the brownie came from the bottom of a chemistry test tube.  Saxon said it tasted like that could have been true.

<>< Katie

Reunited

A long time ago I said if you all were nice to me I would post some fiction.  I haven't forgotten that promise but I have not fulfilled it either.  Until now.  Ta-da!  It's just a first draft (well, second if you count the version in my Writer's Notebook). Inspired by a couple I saw for ten seconds while people watching in the airport.  <>< K

Juggling a cranky toddler in one arm and an overfull diaper bag with the other, Samantha slowly made her way down the airport concourse.

"Sam."

His booming voice made her insides swell with excitement.  Had it really only been four days?  She felt like she had been gone for four years.  Even though she had not yet found Brad in the crowd, she knew they were close because Alexi squirmed more with every step Samantha took.  Finally Samantha saw him.  His big white smile, deep blue eyes, and shaggy brown hair.  She could get lost staring at him.

Alexi flew out of Samantha's arms and fell into her father's chest.  Samantha watched as Brad nuzzled his face into Alexi's hair.  If ever there had been a doubt regarding this father's love for his daughter, this moment eliminated it.

"Hey, Beautiful," he said to Samantha.  He stepped forward and kiss her on the forehead.  With his free arm he wrapped her into him.  Letting the diaper bag fall to the ground, she gripped his back with both hands and breathed in his scent.  She loved being held firmly in his embrace.

Alexi let out a giggle and leaped backwards, almost throwing herself to the ground.  Brad let go of his wife and shifted his attention back to the baby.  He entertained Alexi while Samantha claimed their stroller and large suitcase with a heavy tag, again she questioned if the trip had truly only been four days.  She reassembled the stroller and threw the diaper bag into the seat.  There would be no removing Alexi from her daddy's arms anytime in the near future; they both would protest if Samantha tried.

"Ready?"

Samantha nodded.  She pushed the stroller with her left hand and pulled the suitcase with her right.  The three of them headed out the door.  Samantha was ready to get home.  Ready to relax on her own couch, cuddle with her husband, and let him take care of the baby.  She didn't think he'd mind.

As they stepped into crosswalk, Brad switched Alexi to his right arm and reached for the suitcase with his left hand.  Samantha let him take the weight, but she did not remove her hand.  She wrapped her pinky around his and held on as they walked to the car.

Book Buying with a Writer

"What do you want to do today?" Dad asks me every morning (or afternoon) when I get up. Everyday all week the answer has been the same,
"Sleep!"
"You've already done that; it's noon-thirty. What else do you want to do today?"
"Nothing!"
"That's what you did yesterday."

He's bored and therefore is objective is to annoy the rest of us, but he's right. As I look at my yesterday, my day before yesterday, my everyday since Christmas I realize I haven't done much. I read The Five Love Languages: Singles Edition and that's about it. I've read some blogs, written some blogs, played a few million games of Bejeweled Blitz, whooped butt in Bananagrams, scrapbooked a bit, and that's really about it. I'm not ok with that. I decided I have this time, so I should work on the story. Well, since I have this time the characters don't want to play with me. I've also found when I'm blogging regularly I obtain my "writing fix" without even opening a Word doc. That's a problem.

Umpteen years of writer's block has taught me to read when I want to write. Problem: there's nothing here I want to read. Sure, just within arm's reach I can grab four different books with bookmarks less than 100 pages in and almost a million more I've never read. Yet none of them seem appealing at the moment. I need to do something with my days, and I need to read more.

"One of these days I should go to Barnes and Noble," I said aloud to myself. Then I decided: why wait? Go right now. Instead of waiting for a car, I hopped in our minivan and tooled down the road. I don't like driving the van but nothing gets between a girl and her books!

As I was on my way out the door Dad asked where I was going. He's bored, and I was the only one home. When I told him he asked for how long. My response didn't please him. "Until I'm done kinking my neck to read book title sideways."
"You're just going to walk up and down the aisles until you find something you want to read?"
"Exactly."
"Then I'm definitely not going!"
Good because you weren't invited. Going to B&N alone is something I love. It started freshman year of college when I didn't have a car on campus. I always went shopping with people. Yes, Wal-mart by yourself can be lame, but it's also refreshing to wander the aisles alone and at your leisure. I'm not allowed to go to Wal-mart when I'm home, so I always try to make at least one trip to Barnes and Noble by myself.

"I have my phone but don't call me. I'll be home when I'm done," I announce as I depart.
"What if we need the car?" It's a legitimate concern because we have four and a half drivers and three cars.
"If Dad can hog a car sitting in the parking structure at work untouched all day five days a week I can hog one for a few hours."
No, you can't even go to the mall while I'm at the bookstore because when you're done I have to be done. I want the freedom to be on my own time.

Call me rude but if I run in to people I know while at B&N, our conversations are exceptionally brief. I'm on a mission and I cannot be distracted. However, sometimes I have to pause to people watch.
"Can you just point me to my section?" an annoyed father asked his wife. Their grade school daughter stood in between them.
"This is the adult section," the girl says waving her hands. "All of these books are for adults."
I didn't hear how his wife responded, but he apparently was not satisfied.
"You mean I have to walk around and read every sign to find what I'm looking for?"
Yes, sir. That is exactly what I do.

I wander through the bookstore searching for something to read. For an English major, I'm not very well-read, so I investigate the classics. Nope. No Dickens of Shakespeare for Katie, please. I peruse the 1/2 off books. Since I don't know what I want how marvelous would it be to find it to be on sale? No luck. I sneak to the back corner where my B&N keeps the Christian books. I already have all of those Max Lucado books. They're out of Francine Rivers, and I don't love Karen Kinsbury's grammar.

Without fail I always find my hands on a writing book. Today I laughed at myself when I picked up the first one and quickly put it back. Not even five minutes later I picked up a second one. Realized I'd flipped them both open at random and they both fell open to sections dealing with rejection. That's not something I handle well, so I figured it was a message from God and am now the owner of A Novel Idea. :-)

After this it's the purposeless roaming. I think about books I've heard other people are reading. I recognize authors' names and check out their other books. I remember I've had professors encourage me to read more non-fiction, so I try to come home with at least one non-fiction book (usually this goal fails miserably). Really, though, I'm looking for a novel, and my B&N doesn't have a creative nonfiction section. I want something good to get lost in during these cold winter days as I fight cabin fever.

After that, I do exactly what every child is told never to do: I judge books by their covers. If I like the cover (or title or whatever) I pick up the book and read the back. If there's no synopsis on the back of the jacket I usually put it back down. If the synopsis sounds interesting, I fan the book open. Does it look like a book I could read? Laugh if you want but I almost stopped reading The Five Love Languages because the page number was really close to the edge of the page and I was afraid it was going to get cut off. I also scan for words; books littered with swears will not be enjoyed. For me, sex doesn't sell. No dark, no dirty.

My last stop before hitting the check-out counter is the investigate the teenage section. I didn't discover this section until I was a little too big. I always figured the teen section was for... well... teenagers. Not sheltered twelve or thirteen year old me. I read Harry Potter and Princess Diaries throughout most of my teenage years (this could explain why I'm not very well-read). Oh, well.

Few people enjoy going to bookstores with writers. Thanks for going there with me today (but not literally because I really just want to be there alone).

<>< Katie