At home, his mother chided him when she saw his ripped clothes. “Don’t you go getting yourself in trouble here like you did in Seco, Danoli. This is a fresh start for you…for us. Don’t ruin things.”
“What is that place?” he asked at school the next day.
“Which place?” asked a boy called Johnnes.
“The place with all those tall trees and that thick bunch of bushes.
Eyes rolled. “Don’t go there,” Johnnes said. Then, “You don’t want to go there.”
That made Danoli all the more determined.
She lives in a village of the damned. The people there lost their souls long ago, freely giving them away in exchange for safety.
They speak what they are told to speak and hear only what is spoken by the village master. They cannot think; they cannot fathom. Nor can they discern.
Oh, they seem normal enough. They wear nice clothes, they drive nice cars, they live in houses, work in business. But when someone touches them, they don’t feel that touch; when someone speaks to them, they stare blankly, their eyebrows crinkling in confusion. Every skill and sense is inured and deadened, and even their ability to reason has atrophied.
She lives in a village of the damned. The people there can’t see or hear. They cannot fathom. She studies them, permission granted by the village master. She writes exactly what they do and say — nothing. She, too, is damned.
I’m leaning…well, more than leaning…toward ending with chilled hope where the protagonist wins with the antagonist under her control, alive. On the other hand, we have the protagonist winning, but the antagonist dead…but still a viable force in the protagonists life.
The last one sounds off the wall, right? It isn’t. Think of a person who has died, but continues to hold influence over you. Not a hero or heroine you look up to, but, if you’ve ever been a victim to a crime — your house broken into, yourself badly beaten by someone, raped, perhaps, or maybe just taunted on the playground by a bully and his or her pals. These leave scars on our psyche. Now ratchet that up to extreme.
You never get over the sense of violation of having your house broken into, or being badly beaten by someone. Women never get over having been raped. Bullied children never trust authority and rules to protect them, and forever are measuring the territory for potential aggressors.
Aggression leaves scars upon its victims. So, even if the original perpetrator is dead, a sound or an incident or situation similar to those experienced during trauma will immediately set off a reaction and an awareness heightening — fear, or, in the warrior, preparedness for immediate action and defense — in spontaneous anticipation of a similar trauma about to happen. And the association between the reaction to potential danger and the person of the original perpetrator is very, very strong, if sublimated over time. And what if, just possibly, there was a twin…or even just a very similar personality who entered the protagonists sphere of awareness?
That would be the second of two tails — the above elaboration.
However, I am about cemented in my decision on the first. Not quite. I’m still toying. I’ve written both, and it would only be a matter of tweaking the manuscript to attach the second end instead of the first.
I pose the question, the consideration, because it is one of the delights of writing — the decisions an author makes. And why he or she makes them.
Why would I choose the second over the first? *smile* Because it has such a fine kick in the head when, in an epilogue, the nightmare begins again. (Cliche.)
So we go with the first, and that means I might have to write a sequel if anyone was really all that interested, and I’m not sure I want to do that. Of course, the end stands as it is, but, then, so does the question.
What intrigues me are possibilities of ecstasy and delight, come upon through that tingling veil of anticipation and, maybe, fear:
I play with these things when I write, dwelling in realms far removed from standard consideration.
What do I care whether a modern behemoth Jones, muscle-bound gadget-man, slaughters malicious bad guys toting AK47s who want to steal the world and enslave the pretty girls? That’s been written. And, by and large, it’s pretty boring.
What do I care if Melinda, a nice, hot-looking slip of a girl, pines after Jack Handsome, a rich playboy whose abiding interest is getting laid? I don’t.
There are a million-million bad guys born, just as there are a million-million horny women wishing to belong to some gallant they feature as their hero inside their fancies. Writers write about them, dwelling in teenage fantasies of being The One To Save The Day or The Girl Who Gets Her Man. Who cares? Well, certainly a lot of people do, but I’m not one of them. Books a la Cartland or Clancy don’t do more than make my mind go dry.
But what of that little gleam — that one sitting right there — twinkling from within that darkened thicket…or that face leering at you from just beneath the wall plaster? How about those twining appendages slithering toward you, grasping at your feet, intent upon taking you beneath? Beneath to where?
Strange, yes? Because we don’t particularly apply these same judgements to the unmarried verses married in real life. If anything, we apply the opposite: the married man or lady is more interesting, while the unmarried isn’t as worthy…perhaps because the fact of marriage means that someone valued that person enough to sign and seal a life contract with them, adding “value.”
In fiction, for me, what is interesting about how I potentially may handle it is how that married character changes –interpretations the reader puts upon that character’s actions both before and after marriage. Readers seem to give less leeway to the married man or woman than they do the bachelor or spinster. After marriage, the good deeds become expected and the bad ones inexcusable. After marriage, the character becomes more black or white, good OR bad, rather than black AND white (grey), good AND bad. So some three dimensional depth automatically is sacrificed once one “shackles” the protag with a wedding ring. Not always. But enough that it makes any author pause before committing a character to “holy” (or unholy
) matrimony.
Of course, one can just have the protagonist get engaged. Or, if married, kill off the partner.
But here’s the second half of the intriguing question:
Let’s say I have two candidates for marriage to the protag, one a wonderful personality, and one with, say, a good personality, but not as good a match to the protagonist as the first. BUT. Let’s also say that the first candidate for engagement and matrimony is fat, while the second candidate — the one who isn’t quite as good a match — is lean, trim, and ranks high in looks. How are my readers to react should I match-make to number one candidate, verses how will they react should I match-make to number two candidate?
So far, even though the jury isn’t done deliberating, the answers come ranked like this:
While readers can understand matrimony to the fat candidate, almost across the board, they aren’t thrilled with the idea. However, should number two, the leaner, more aesthetically pleasing candidate be chosen, they feel more “right” about it, even though they already know that the choice might mean a less than excellent marital relationship and could mean divorce or at least trauma and conflict in the future.
So then I ask: What if marriage to number one proves totally perfect for both — wonderful, in fact?
Nope, say those I ask. Marriage to the fat person just doesn’t sit well say all but the most occasional voice.
Hmmmm.
And, what, you ask, am I going to choose? To marry or not to marry? And, if marry, to which candidate?
I’m not telling. 
(And, yes, I do know.)
The several I meant to get up didn’t make it, though, specifically CE, O, R, R2, and S. Why? Because I found them very difficult to hedge “what’s the story about,” and get something up there which made any real sense. I mean, even when the high concept is rife with core significance, hiding and hedging gets really tough.
And I am finding it hard to avoid giving out too much of “what the story is about,” never mind the plot and the characters. I mean that IS what I want my reader to know, straight off, right — what the story is about, who the story is about, and why they should really want to read it? So that’s what I’m pretty darn good at. But when dealing with this medium, specifically the wide-open Internet, you just can’t afford to take chances on exposing too much of a very good thing because, quite honestly, there are just so many others out there ready and waiting to snap up your good ideas. Just look at what Fox did!
Taking a cue, I guess, from that film company that did that wonderful job taking that historian’s book on the Crusades and making it into a movie…without buying the rights, now we have Fox blatantly ripping off the book Forever by Peter Hamill — http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070829/ap_en_ot/the_immortal_idea – to create a TV show, again without paying Hamill for the rights. Let me tell you, since “ideas cannot be copyrighted,” well, an author has to get a bit creative in NOT giving the vultures out there any meat until and unless they actually pay for it…not that they will, but, hey, one can always hope that there is somebody honest once your work is in print. (Didn’t work for the historian or for Hamill, but let’s not give up all home.)
So, for me, it was a matter of developing a new skill rather instantly — how to intrigue and interest without actually letting the reader in on what’s actually going on.
I didn’t do too good a job. …But I didn’t do too badly, either. I mean, considering that authors spend years training ourselves to actually write blurbs and teasers to let an agent, editor, and reader have a good solid taste of “what the story is about,” doing the opposite is not an easy task. But, who am I to judge? Instead, you tell me: NOVELS. Did I “do good?”
Meanwhile, do me a favor, would you? Boycott Fox and buy Peter Hamill’s book.
…Oh, and while we’re on about books…and reading, Steve Moshe wrote an excellent article: http://howtogetpublishedstrong.blogspot.com/2007/09/how-to-get-published.html. What especially intrigues me are the statistics he mentions – eighty percent of Americans want to write a book…but no more than fifty-seven percent have even read a book in the last twelve months? Wow! I wonder how many of those books the fifty-seven percent actually bought and paid for at full price? Not many, I’m betting. What say you?