First 250 Blogfest

Today Elle Strauss is hosting the First 250 Words blogfest. Stop on by her blog to sign up and see the other participants.

Here's the opening to the book I'm pitching at a conference today. Because of said conference, I likely won't get a chance to make the rounds to read other posts till Sunday.

For comparison, you can see my earlier draft HERE (a somewhat unfair comparison, since it was 370 words--more like a page and a third).

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EXCERPT REMOVED

Today's rough and tumble independent publishing world made it necessary to remove all snippets and previous versions of my work from the blog. The existence of such a "publishing trail" can be used to file false DMCA notices about my novels.

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Cooking and baking blogfest

Charity at My Writing Journey is hosting today's blogfest of scenes with cooking or baking. I hope to include some funny cooking moments in my next book, because domestic tasks are so not my MCs strong suit. But since I'm revising the first book like a madwoman, I had to pull out an existing scene with cooking.

This scene is narrated by MC Danielle (Dani) Deane, who's 15. It's the day after a large memorial service was held for her father, a British ex-pat. Her paternal grandparents are making Sunday dinner. Dani's mother and maternal grandfather enter at the end of the scene and have one of their usual "touching moments."

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Some interesting kitchen smells waft down the hall and I realize, for the first time in days, that I’m actually hungry at a normal time.

My Deane grandparents buzz around the kitchen in aprons, looking like characters from the BBC’s Vicar of Dibley plopped into an episode of Chef! Grandpa, in his clerical collar, busily whacks a whisk around a saucepan, scourging a sauce with medieval zeal. Grandma leans over the open oven and prods something richly meaty-smelling inside.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask, trying to sound casual and not drool.

Grandma closes the oven, smiles. “Ah, sweetheart! You fancy a nice Sunday dinner—leg of lamb, Yorkshire pudding, roasted carrots?”

“And gravy!” Grandpa holds up his whisk with a flourish.

“Sounds scrumptious. Shall I set?” Jeez. I’m talking like a Brit again. I swear it’s contagious. Give me another day with Dad’s family and I’ll be emptying the dustbin and waiting for the rubbish lorry to haul it away.

“Please do,” Grandma says. “I think your aunt got caught up in her e-mail and quite forgot about us.”

I squeeze past Grandpa and pull six plates out of the cabinet. In the midst of cooking noises, a faint tune plays in the background. “Winter Wonderland.” Gosh, I’d forgotten it’s still the holidays. This’ll be a real memorable New Year’s. Instead of screaming in Times Square, I’ll be flying over Greenland with an urn.

“Let’s see.” Grandma shifts her foggy glasses to read the oven timer. “Just seventeen minutes more. I do hope Grace isn’t late.”

“Where is Mum?” I pull out fistfuls of silverware.

“Meeting some fellow, name of Bell,” Grandpa says. “Is it usual for her to work on Sundays? Is that why she’s been at church so little these years?”

“Mr. Bell is headmaster at my school. I hope she’s bribing him to get me out of the piles of homework my teachers expect me to take to England.”

“Bribing! Is it really as bad as all that, dearest?” Grandma asks.

“Hellooo!” Mum calls, bustling in, red-cheeked. There’s a dusting of snow in her hair. She plops a stack of folders and paperbacks on the counter and unwinds her scarf. “That was quite invigorating. Flurrying a little, but not so cold. I should think you could manage the walk to Rexford easily, Dani, with those long legs of yours.”

“Dad liked driving me.”

She leafs though the pile like she didn’t hear me. “Headmaster Bell was quite helpful in getting your reading assignments into travel size. Let’s see. Hamlet in a lovely paperback instead of that huge complete works you’ve been lugging around. Colored photocopies of your textbook chapters: world history, geometry…and anatomy. There’s a pamphlet on volleyball rules for PE, sheet music for chorale….Didn’t think you needed drawing paper. Now this is fabulous—all of your Spanish on CD-ROM! It’s got audio and video clips and even some games. That should pass the time quickly, eh?”

Behind me, someone snorts. I turn, and there's Poppa Tilman, standing in the doorway looking rumpled, like he just woke from a nap.

“Work, work, work,” he says. “You always think that’s the answer, Gracie. Work enough and nothing in life touches you.”

Mum stiffens. “I don’t see how wallowing could help anyone.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

Grandma and Grandpa busy themselves fussing over a cookbook. I’m curious, since they’re arguing about me, but I take the cue: act busy. I stay by the table and slowly place silverware: spoon, spoon, fork, fork. Argument? I don’t hear any argument.

“Are you suggesting we let her fail?” Mum says.

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Poppa says. “I’m saying right out that our girl needs a vacation. Time to just do nothing if she wants.”

“She’s getting time away from classes and routine. But be reasonable. She can’t just drop out of life and expect things to magically get done.”

“So what if they don’t get done, Gracie? You think the headmaster’s gonna call for heads on platters? I don’t think so. All you need’s a note from a therapist. Far as I know, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting one in this town.”

Poppa pushes roughly past her, pats my Deane grandparents on the back. “Gayle, Elliott, dinner smells divine. Many thanks for fixing this fine feast.”

Mum quietly straightens my mega-formal three-fork, two-spoon place settings, her mouth downturned. For half a second, she looks like a sad little girl, wishing Pop would compliment her for a change. She notices me watching her, jerks to attention and hurries away.

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First Page Blogfest

Thanks to Kelly of Kelly's Compositions for hosting today's First Page Blogfest! Stop by her blog to find all the other blogfest participants and links to their offerings.

Here's the opening of my novel Bring to Light. Happy reading.

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Dad? Here in my room? No freaking way.

I lean on one elbow and squint, brush mascara flakes from my eyelashes. What the heck? It can’t be. Just days ago, he was gone. Nurses powered down his monitors, pulled a sheet over him and rolled him away.

Yet he’s here. Himself again: thin, lanky and strong. There’s no trace of the crusted bandages, crazy quilt of stitches, angry bruises, dripping tubes, blipping machines, creepy Darth Vader breathing. Relief washes over me, warm and bubbling.

He leans on my desk like he did every night and runs a hand through his thick, ginger-blond hair. His blue eyes crinkle in the corners. I want to jump up and kiss those crinkles, kiss his hawk nose and big ears. Hang on and never let go. But I can’t move, can scarcely breathe.

How can you possibly be here? I thought…they said…you’re…supposed to be dead. You were cold and gray and still as a rock.

He frowns. “Dead? Blimey, Dani, that’s got a bit of a final ring to it.”

Whoa. He must’ve heard me. But how? I didn’t say anything out loud.

I must be dreaming. But I’ve been in the room two minutes, tops, sorting stuff for my carry-on. That’s not enough time to doze off. And I just had a Coke with supper.

No, I’m pretty sure I’m awake. And yet my dead father is talking to me, and reading my thoughts and how could that be possible unless...it’s not him. It’s a ghost. An evil spirit. Or… just the standard grief hallucination: dead relative pops in, hovers, smiles, leaves.

Keeping him in my sight, I push aside the pile of toiletries, sit up and hug my knees. He goes on smiling and watching, but his eyes seem sad. What would happen if I tried to touch him? Would he disappear like mist on a windshield? Better not risk that.

“What…what are you doing here?” I finally say.

“No idea. You tell me.”

So it’s interactive. Huh. I don’t think that’s part of the standard hallucination.

“I don’t know why you’re here, or even that you’re here. Jeez, I don’t even know if you’re you.”

“I see. Quite the dilemma.”

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Settings find us*

Not long ago I had a nice IM chat with a friend my husband and I visited in England in 2006, when I was in the early stages of drafting Bring to Light. It got me thinking about how discovering a captivating setting can open possibilities for plot, theme and characterization.

In early outlines of my novel, I'd intended to include a one-chapter foray to southwest England, where I'd actually lived with a family when I was in college. But this particular vacation morphed into a major research trip that radically changed my vision for my novel.

The nature of the trip first changed when we entered King's Cross station, the railroad gateway to the north--a hub for rail service to northern England and Scotland. Despite the Harry Potter connection, it's not an elegant station like Victoria or sleek and hip like Charing Cross. This communicated a lot about internal stereotypes among Britons, namely that north England is considered the sticks, and its inhabitants, country hicks. Suddenly a resonant back story on my protagonist's British father began to unfold: Country boy leaves home and culture to seek his fortune abroad, where he'd meet fewer prejudices about his upbringing. (Most Americans can't tell a Cockney or Geordie accent from a posh Oxbridge, or don't have enough context to be prejudiced against less desirable regional dialects.)

Durham itself was the second great discovery, a rare jewel few tourists ever see. The city is perched on cliffs on a peninsula formed by the rivers Tyne and Wear, with a stunning 900-year-old cathedral its crowning beauty. At the cathedral and elsewhere in the region, we saw evidence of Christianity's long history sunk deep into this land--back to Roman times. The ancient past of the Vikings, the Saxons, the Romans seems nearer here than in the south, where generations have built over the past time and again. This got me thinking about the decision every generation must make: will we examine and learn from the past, or bury it?

Our friends, American transplants to England, patiently answered my thousand and one questions. Unlike natives, they were able to see the jarring differences between the "two cultures divided by a shared language" that my American-born protagonist would also notice. I soon saw how cultural differences--especially American versus British ideas about privacy and emoting--could have interesting consequences within a family dynamic.

What role does setting play in your work? Has your work ever changed significantly after discovering an exciting setting?

*This is yet another lazy re-post from my early blogging days. It's a busy week. :-)

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Abra-cadabra: sleight of hand in fiction

Narrative misdirection is a writerly trick of establishing false expectations in your readers, directing their attention to the wrong information and causing them to ignore correct information. It's an excellent way to surprise them, and has uses in nearly every genre, though it is a staple of mysteries.

J.K. Rowling happens to be a master of this technique. Time and again, Harry is certain he knows who the villain is, and every time he is wrong! Author and blogger John Granger goes into a great deal of detail about Rowling's method in his book Unlocking Harry Potter. Another Potter scholar, Travis Prinzi, has some excellent posts on the topic as well. (My professor hubby is currently teaching "Harry Potter and Philosophy" and has gotten me into the lit crit on Rowling. Granger and Prinzi are wonderful speakers and their blogs worth a visit.)

In my Whoops! Blogfest entry, I also played with the technique. Misdirection can be an excellent way to make humorous moments funnier. Take a moment to go look at it.

You're back? Excellent. I'll explain the elements of narrative misdirection by walking you through what I did, and why and how I did it.

1. Limited viewpoint. My piece is in first person. The only perceptions you have are Dani's. The possibility is good that she does not have the whole picture. She very well might misinterpret the data in front of her. But it's hard for you, the reader, to know that because I've removed other sources of interpretation by limiting the perception to only what she directly experiences, knows or remembers.

Rowling uses third person limited. Omniscient narrators are a no-no in this technique. Your POV must limit perception.

2. Sympathetic voice and reader identification. Dani's internal monologue paints her as a smart, arty dreamer who's a bit shy. She obeys her aunt grumblingly, having thoughts of being put-upon with "stupid" assignments. Everyone has felt this way at one point or another. As a reader, you sympathize and take her side. You become willing to trust her judgments about what is happening and why.

3. Playing with expectation. Aunts are those sorts of benevolent authority figures we expect to play "the straight man" in any joke. I describe Cecily having a young child that is usually weaving through her legs or swinging from her purse strap, which cements a picture in your mind: maternal and focused there. I give you only the details that would support your existing expectations of "aunt."

4. Clues the character chooses to ignore. This is VERY important. The truth must be in the scene and there for the astute reader to pick up. Otherwise you just have very annoying out-of-nowhere surprises, not narrative misdirection.

I hint that Janie should be around, and that she had been playing a game called "guerrilla stealth"--a name that implies unexpected combat. I also point out that Aunt Cecily is the instigator of Dani ever leaving the cathedral nave and going into the quire. As a reader, you chose to ignore the importance because Dani does.

5. Details that capture your MC's attention. Does the beauty of Durham cathedral's quire really matter that much? Or the fact that the guide is bilingual French-English? No, but as a reader you're willing to be pulled off on Dani's flight of fancy because of the style in this paragraph. I used a little writerly magic dust of pretty words and alliteration and imagery to momentarily sweep you into Dani's distraction.

Keep in mind you can't do pages of this kind of thing, but just a paragraph can be an effective "sleight of hand." It's like the "jazz-hands" dazzle that magicians use to point you away from the real action.

Likewise, drawing Dani's attention primarily to the guy she sat on keeps you, the reader, from looking deeper into what Dani's family members are doing.

6. Confirm misinterpretations. Both Aunt Cecily and Janie play to Dani's expectation. The aunt scolds, the cousin becomes "ashy pale" at the scolding. And it's no small scolding. The aunt's big reaction cements the misinterpretation as true.

7. Payoff, in which misinterpretations are clarified. This is one tiny detail you might be tempted to overlook. Do wrap up how the surprise really happened, because it's annoying to the reader when you don't. Rowling always does. In my little scene, it was a simple exchange: "You weren't supposed to tell your mum" and "you never said that." I didn't have to give a detailed back story of how or when Janie and Cecily planned their trick on Dani. The reader can imagine it easily enough. But I did need to make it clear they were in cahoots deliberately from the beginning or the payoff would have fallen flat, because readers just wouldn't buy it.


So there you go, a quick primer on the basics of simple narrative misdirection. In mysteries, of course, it gets considerably more complicated. The author must layer in clues and dazzling distractions, one on top of another.

How do you think you might use this technique in your writing?

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Ramblings of the IT Girl

The writer's meme has been circulating in the blogosphere for months now, so I knew it was only a matter of time till someone said "tag, you're IT!" That someone was Heather of The Secret Adventures of WriterGirl.

I'm sorry to say I got a bit long-winded on this one. You get me started talking writing and I just can't shut up.

1) What's the last thing you wrote? What's the first thing you wrote that you still have?
Most recently, I wrote new content for WIP-1 chapter 7. I'm determined to finish this rewrite by Easter.
My earliest work that survived a family house fire are several unfinished junior-high attempts at novel writing. All were written on those tablets the school supplied--you know, the 5"x9" unbleached, recycled paper with blue lines.

2) Write poetry?
Yes. Studying Ginsberg’s “Howl” as an undergrad was a watershed moment that exposed me to the raw power of the genre. In my 20s, I focused largely on writing and publishing poetry. I still credit poetry training for shaping my sense of rhythm, and love of alliteration, assonance, allusion and word play in my fiction. My major influences in poetry writing are Scott Cairns, Annie Dillard and David Citino.

3) Angsty poetry?
Oh, sure. I’ve certainly had my Emo moments, especially after prolonged exposure to Beat poetry.

4) Favorite genre of writing?
Young adult edgy inspirational

5) Most annoying character you've ever created?
Fletcher, a minor character (best friend of the love interest) is an geek who aspires to a life in politics: a teen middle-age-wannabe. Here’s how he interacts with other teens: “Speaking in a low, earnest voice, he shakes my hand while touching my shoulder—one of his typical politician gestures, like he’s president of everything.”

6) Best plot you've ever created.
WIP-1, which involves grieving, ghosts and family secrets. I’d rather not give more specifics, since I’m still trying to work out some plot kinks in the middle.

7) Coolest plot twist you've ever created?
All I can say is that it involves a creep who collects mannequins.

8) How often do you get writer's block?
Every few months. It’s just the nature of the process. You run and run, then need to take a breather.

9) Write fan fiction?
Does really derivative fantasy count?

10) Do you type or write by hand?
I do all note taking and much of my rough drafting in longhand. For the “smooth draft,” written in complete, grammatical sentences, I compose at the keyboard.

11) Do you save everything you write?
I save electronic copies of drafts and keep backups in e-mail. Even crummy rough drafts have bits that can be useful somewhere.

12) Do you ever go back to an idea after you've abandoned it?
Yes. Sometimes an idea that doesn’t work in one context works in another. And some ideas need to cook for years before one’s mind is ready to write them well.

13) What's your favorite thing you've ever written?
I really like the romantic subplot in WIP-1. The MC and love interest push each other’s buttons a fair amount, but they build a strong bond based on a caring friendship. Their conflicts arise because each wants to bring out the best in the other.

14) What's everyone else's favorite story you've written?
Of the pieces I’ve shown people, I’ve had strong positive responses to chapter 3 in WIP-1, and to a short story prequel to WIP-1 that’s currently out on submission.

15) Ever written romance or angsty teen drama?
I may someday resurrect a YA romantic comedy novel I started at 16. It explores the band geek subculture. I think my WIP novels would probably qualify as angsty teen drama, though my MC’s pain comes from real suffering, not merely adolescent ennui.

16) What's your favorite setting for your characters?
I have little first-hand experience with the 'burbs, so I prefer urban and rural contexts. My settings are based on actual places, real locations I’ve fictionally altered or well-researched fabrications. The small village in northeast England I created for WIP-1 was the most fun to research (yes, a trip abroad was involved).

17) How many writing projects are you working on right now?
Three: Two novels and a short story

18) Have you ever won an award for your writing?
I won a short story contest in junior high for a maudlin piece about a paraplegic girl. It was called “Christmas of Sorrows.” I currently have a story excerpt entered in Nathan Bransford's diary contest. I have no idea how it will fare. I'm only about 60% happy with it.

19) What are your five favorite words?
Murmur, hiss, sheepish, languid, glisten

20) What character have you created that is most like yourself?
The MC in my WIP short story (excerpted for Nathan's contest; to read the excerpt, see sidebar on this page, above the blog awards). It’s the first autobiographical piece I’ve written in ages.

21) Where do you get your ideas for your characters?
I usually start with a flicker of an idea of the person’s potential role and build from there in a series of “If…then” exercises. For example, I felt my MC’s best friend should be another outsider in the prep school, but one who’d initiate a relationship. If outgoing outsider, then quirky and into practical jokes. If into practical jokes, then from a big family. If from a big family, then a transplant from the South.

I suppose how those “if…then” cascades go a particular direction is a function of my own experiences, people I know or have observed, and characters I’ve been exposed to in books, films and TV.

22) Do you ever write based on your dreams?
In college I wrote a dream-based sci-fi short story. In it, people traveled using an elaborate system of translucent vacuum tubes (similar to the technology used at bank drive-throughs). It was kind of steampunk now that I think about it.

23) Do you favor happy endings?
I like redemptive endings in which characters confront the worst in themselves and take a tentative step toward change.

24) Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?
Not in rough draft. I usually jot disjointed fragments as fast as the ideas flow.

25) Does music help you write?
Definitely. It can be a great tool to set mood so I can jump into the emotion of a scene. Other times I just need familiar tunes to put me in a working groove.

26) Quote something you've written. Whatever pops in your head.
I look up from my notes to see familiar shop signs lining the street. City pigeons rip a discarded bagel. Eager dogs pull their owners toward Central Park. A pack of Columbia students jostle into a pizza joint. Soon I’ll be home, where Dad once walked, whistled and left wet towels on the bathroom floor. Will his voice still echo down the hall, hung floor to ceiling with his visions of beatific bag ladies and neon-lit Hasidic boys at the bus stop, longing for Zion? Saltiness drips onto my lips, tasting like the Marmite he used to feed me on thin triangles of toast. The world outside blurs. I slump against the cool glass, tired and hurting everywhere.

I'm tagging Amber at Musings of Amber Murphy. She named her MC Laurel, which makes me feel exceptionally cool.

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Trauma, courage and antagonist insights

Sunday morning. I made my coffee palatable with ice cream, because we ran out of milk Saturday. A milk run was not top priority after a tiring day helping prep an apartment for a refugee family and trying to capture a stray kitten friends want to adopt. My husband returned from his jog. I finalized the "quick grocery run" list, called out my goodbyes.

"Don't go to the store," came a thin voice from upstairs. "I don't feel well."

I jogged up the steps. "Are you nauseous or something?"

My husband laid in bed with the laptop open, looking at cartoon chests. "It's my...I think it's my heart." He pointed to an image labeled "angina" and described the radiating pain, the sense of suffocation. I thought my eyeballs just might pop their sockets. He's only 40! I ran for the phone, called his doctor's office, worked through the endless menus until we got a live human, then handed over the phone. My husband described his symptoms to the doc-on-call and she urged him to take an aspirin and go to the ER.

After hustling our slow-moving 7-yo to dress and pack something to keep her occupied, we headed off to the hospital. In the next anxious hours, while my husband endured countless tests, I sat in the waiting room being as boringly normal as I could. I put finishing touches on my lesson for youth group that evening, admired C's drawing efforts and doled out snacks. I pushed the mute groans of prayer into the back of my head, off my face where they would terrify my child.

As the day progressed, we learned little of what had actually happened inside my husband's chest that morning. The "event" remained unlabeled. Cause, unknown. They would keep him overnight for observation. Run more and more and more tests.

Lunchtime was approaching. The milkless fridge at home called. My hubby would need an overnight bag packed and more things to read. So off we went, my daughter and I, to tend to the mundane. Food in the belly, groceries, clean socks and pajamas and toothpaste.

I'd forgotten how grueling the ordinary can seem. How anxiety can come not only from a health scare, but also from competing obligations and desires. How can I be the wife my husband needs and the mom my kid needs and the youth leader my teen girls need? And what of the lean, hungry lamb in me with her own needs, like hearing the voice of her shepherd, eating from his table every single week?

This strange mishmash of feelings I had to process opened my eyes to the many faces of courage. That at times it looks like asking the produce guy to check the storeroom for pomegranates because your kid needs to know you hear her, are for her, even though taking the time meant forgoing something I wanted (i.e. being with the youth group kids I adore). Later that evening, as we ate a quick bite in the hospital cafeteria, my daughter sang to herself as she assembled her tuna on rye. She felt safe. Wasn't worried.

And it hit me: this is what it feels like to walk in the shoes of my novel's antagonist, the mother my protagonist misreads again and again. Just because she won't publicly break down, it doesn't mean she doesn't feel every "barb and arrow of outrageous fortune." She has courage that looks like affect. Courage that's food in the belly, groceries, clean socks and pajamas and toothpaste.

Has life ever given you insight into your story's "bad guy"? How did it feel for you?

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Settings find us

Not long ago I had a nice IM chat with a friend my husband and I visited in England in 2006, when I was in the early stages of drafting Bring to Light. It got me thinking about how discovering a captivating setting can open possibilities for plot, theme and characterization.

In early outlines of my novel, I'd intended to include a one-chapter foray to southwest England, where I'd actually lived with a family when I was in college. But this particular vacation morphed into a major research trip changed everything.

The nature of the trip first changed when we entered King's Cross station, the railroad gateway to the north--a hub for rail service to northern England and Scotland. Despite the Harry Potter connection, it's not an elegant station like Victoria or sleek and hip like Charing Cross. This communicated a lot about internal stereotypes among Britons, namely that north England is considered the sticks, and its inhabitants, country hicks. Suddenly a resonant back story on my protagonist's British father began to unfold: Country boy leaves home and culture to seek his fortune abroad, where he'd meet fewer prejudices about his upbringing.

Durham itself was the second great discovery, a rare jewel few tourists ever see. The city is perched on cliffs on a peninsula formed by the rivers Tyne and Wear, with a stunning 900-year-old cathedral its crowning beauty. At the cathedral and elsewhere in the region, we saw evidence of Christianity's long history sunk deep into this land--back to Roman times. The ancient past of the Vikings, the Saxons, the Romans seems nearer here than in the south, where generations have built over the past time and again. This got me thinking about the decision every generation must make: will we examine and learn from the past, or bury it?

Our friends, American transplants to England, patiently answered my thousand and one questions. Unlike natives, they were able to see the jarring differences between the "two cultures divided by a shared language" that my American-born protagonist would also notice. I soon saw how cultural differences--especially American versus British ideas about privacy and emoting--could have interesting consequences within a family dynamic.

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The name game, part 3

One consideration when naming fictional characters is their ethnicity and what you want to communicate about their relationship to it. Every human has some kind of ethnic background, even John and Jane Doe, who would certainly couldn't just melt into the background were they walking the streets of Tashkent or Yaoundé. There's no such thing as an unethnic name, unless you call your characters X or H or V like values in an algebraic formula. And sure, that lends a certain mystery that could work for you, depending on the genre. But if you write contemporary, realistic fiction, you'll have to tangle with the ethnicity question.

In American contexts, the names of your characters can communicate a sense of place as much as describing a setting in detail. A mill town peopled with characters named Tony diFrancesco and Lucia Vincenzo will be a palpably different place than one peopled with characters named Gordon MacElroy and Bonnie Fergus. Urban settings reflect their diversity most convincingly when peopled with folks from a variety of backgrounds. Of course, your character may very well live in an urban setting that's ethnically insular. The character names should reflect that reality. Likewise, you say a lot about a character when his closest allies have names reflecting an ethnic diversity that isn't the norm for the broader community.

In contexts where a character goes to a different environment, names of the people she meets there will help ground the setting. Much of Bring to Light occurs in England, so it was important that the British characters be distinguishable from the Americans. I tried to steer toward names more fashionable across the pond, including Graham, Oliver, Reggie, Gemma, Elliott, Hugh, Cecily, Eliza, Jane and Philip (never simply Phil). Some of the surnames I use include Deane, Pemberton, Mawbry, Clewes and Neville.

My protagonist Danielle Renee, however, has a name that reflects French ancestry on her mother's side of the family. Here, the ethnic name says something about the name-giver as much as the name bearer. It speaks of Dani's mother Grace's desire to connect with her French relatives, especially her own mother.

Characters that attempt to suppress their ethnicity communicate an ambivalent relationship with their heritage, or even an outright rejection of it. Dani's French Nana, who had been born Madgalene Marie Miroux, becomes the Anglo-sounding Maggie Tilman in her adult life. The reasons for that transformation are something I'll be exploring in my work-in-progress sequel.

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The name game, part 2

Talkin bout my generation...

One of the first steps I take when picking character names is determining their ages and birth years. There's a bit of number crunching involved. When researching Bring to Light, I knew I wanted my protagonist to be 15. That put her birth year at the time of writing to be in the early 1990s. From there I also calculated the ages of her parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles.

Next, I hit my go-to resource for looking at name trends: the Social Security Administration's name database. They track each year's 500 most popular names, and their data goes back all the way back to 1880. This provides me with a pretty good starter list. Any name I choose off the top of the list will communicate trendiness or "typical specimen of this generation." Names in the middle of the top 100 both fit in and stand out. They seem like individuals, but not of the extreme oddball variety.

Most of my teen characters have midlist names for 1992: Danielle #17, Heather #23, Amy #43, Mark #47, Jesse #51. Annelise's name sticks out as foreign, something I wanted to communicate without having to give major backstory. (I'll talk more about ethnicity in my next post, "The name game, part 3".) Theo's name, which is way down the list at #251, sticks out a bit too. You expect him to be a little different from the average Tyler, Brandon or Zach of the same age.

Occasionally, I pick a name that's totally out of synch generationally. My protagonist's mother is named Grace, which seems odd for someone born in the mid-1960s. Deborah (#12 in 1964) would have been a more logical choice to go with her sibling David--it's alliterative and also Hebrew. The old-timey name makes Grace seem out of place, a contrary force. It draws attention to itself, especially when Grace's grace seems mostly to reside in her outer, physical beauty and not her inner self. As a reader, you wonder what her parents were thinking, which is good. I intend her name to communicate something about the name-giver as much as about Grace herself (more about that in "The name game, part 5").

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