I've been hearing for a while at writing conferences how unreliable narrators are all the rage. It took me a bit to wrap my mind around the idea, but now I'm seeing them popping up everywhere. I think my own moral conscience objects to a narrator who is purposely deceptive, but there are a couple of novels where the unreliable aspect comes from part of who the narrator is or something that happens to them.
Take for example, WHAT ALICE FORGOT by Liane Moriarty (can we all admit, that's an awesome last name to have?!). Alice bumps her head at the gym at the age of 39 and wakes up thinking she's 29. She's lost ten years of her life, which means she's suddenly in a trim, fit body, which she's never had before, she doesn't know her children, and she's in the middle of a messy divorce. I spent the whole book wondering whether all the changes she made would last when she got her memory back.
I won't spoil the end for you, but I thought it was a great example of an unreliable narrator.
The challenge this week: Unreliable narrator
Enjoy!
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My response:
(My brain immediately went to a friend I had when I lived on the East coast. She tried one day to explain to us what it's like to have dissociative disorder. I'll try to do her description justice.)
It took a minute for everything to come into focus. Kind of like waking up, but I rarely actually wake up in my bed. I know that's a little odd, but when I think about it too much, my head starts to buzz and my stomach clenches, so I don't let my thoughts linger there. I stick to safer topics.
It's lunch. Or dinner, maybe. I'm at the only chain food/grill restaurant in town. A quick glance up and down the table, and the sun streaming in the windows tells me it's lunch. Namely, the Ladies' Luncheon my friend, Barb, hosts every month with the women from church. Barb is sitting next to me. I thought she was going to Hawaii ... why is she here?
Anne sits across the table. I smile. Anne is sweet. She's young, new to town, and completely friendless. Barb offered a flippant invite to her, and she glommed onto us like a barnacle. She's pregnant, and her baby should be due anytime, but she's got another child on her lap and is feeding her bits of bread from the plate. I look around for the baby's mother. I recognize seven of the eight women sitting around the table, and the one I don't know has thick, silver hair. I don't know who the baby belongs to.
My lunch arrives: a big, southwest chicken salad slathered in guacamole sauce. I object.
"I didn't order this."
The waitress looks at me with wide eyes. "Southwest grilled chicken salad with extra guac? Are you sure?"
Barb give me a thoughtful look, but she doesn't speak up. She's my best friend. She should know I wouldn't order something like this.
"I'm allergic to avocado." I frown.
The waitress's eyes search the rest of the table. "I'm so sorry, who had the salad with extra guac?"
No one answers. To the waitress's credit, she drops it, and turns back to me with another apology on her lips. No problem, I tell her. I'd like the fried cod with French fries. That shouldn't take too long.
The waitress leaves and the conversation at the table picks back up. Someone makes a comment about the Christmas program at church and something one of the kids did. Everyone laughs, but my brain flounders. Didn't I just put Alice back in school? Only three days ago, I'm sure. It can't be after Christmas already.
I look up across the table at Anne and realize her pregnant belly is gone. Can that really be her own baby?
Monday, May 25, 2015
Monday, May 18, 2015
Grab a book #4
I like this kind of prompt for a couple of reasons. First, we get to see what other people are reading - what book is nearby or on their minds. Second, it turns out completely random, which adds to the fun.
(Fun Fact: I have Brandon Sanderson's WORDS OF RADIANCE sitting on my desk, and I was tempted to say "go to page 1024 of the book nearest you". But unless you also happen to have Brandon Sanderson sitting on your desk - or Les Mis, The Count of Monte Cristo, War and Peace, or the Bible - the book next to you is not likely to have 1024 pages.)
Let's go with page 114, second paragraph, first sentence.
Enjoy!
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My response:
As I mentioned, I have Brandon Sanderson's WORDS OF RADIANCE. Page 114, second paragraph, first sentence: "Shallan went to another reference, and before long got completely lost in her studies."
(This is where I think, "Oy! I should have scoped that out before I picked it. But that would have defeated the purpose of the prompt." And, "Evidence of Brandon Sanderson's genius, that he can write about someone doing research and still make it interesting!" But I digress ...)
"Shallan went to another reference, and before long, got completely lost in her studies." If she had heard Aran drop the book, she gave no sign. Still, Aran didn't know how long she'd be able to hide in the shadows of the small alcove. If Shallan found her there, Aran's life would be forfeit.
The corner of the heavy tomb pressed against the top of Aran's foot, the opposite corner against the stones. Aran bent slowly and lifted it, hugging it to her chest. She took a few deep breaths, painfully conscious of how her heart pounded in her chest.
The thudding of footsteps in the hallway didn't help.
"Shallan! Hurry! There's been an accident, and we need you!" A voice sounded from the doorway, followed by the rusting of Shallan's skirts.
Aran sighed with relief. It was Bryant's doing, of course. He'd kept his promise. Aran waited until she was sure the hallway was empty, and then slipped out, the book hidden safely under her robes.
(Fun Fact: I have Brandon Sanderson's WORDS OF RADIANCE sitting on my desk, and I was tempted to say "go to page 1024 of the book nearest you". But unless you also happen to have Brandon Sanderson sitting on your desk - or Les Mis, The Count of Monte Cristo, War and Peace, or the Bible - the book next to you is not likely to have 1024 pages.)
Let's go with page 114, second paragraph, first sentence.
Enjoy!
*****************************************************************************
My response:
As I mentioned, I have Brandon Sanderson's WORDS OF RADIANCE. Page 114, second paragraph, first sentence: "Shallan went to another reference, and before long got completely lost in her studies."
(This is where I think, "Oy! I should have scoped that out before I picked it. But that would have defeated the purpose of the prompt." And, "Evidence of Brandon Sanderson's genius, that he can write about someone doing research and still make it interesting!" But I digress ...)
"Shallan went to another reference, and before long, got completely lost in her studies." If she had heard Aran drop the book, she gave no sign. Still, Aran didn't know how long she'd be able to hide in the shadows of the small alcove. If Shallan found her there, Aran's life would be forfeit.
The corner of the heavy tomb pressed against the top of Aran's foot, the opposite corner against the stones. Aran bent slowly and lifted it, hugging it to her chest. She took a few deep breaths, painfully conscious of how her heart pounded in her chest.
The thudding of footsteps in the hallway didn't help.
"Shallan! Hurry! There's been an accident, and we need you!" A voice sounded from the doorway, followed by the rusting of Shallan's skirts.
Aran sighed with relief. It was Bryant's doing, of course. He'd kept his promise. Aran waited until she was sure the hallway was empty, and then slipped out, the book hidden safely under her robes.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Character Development: Part 2
For so many of my prompts, I like to promote books that I like. Unfortunately, the book I'm reading right now has me going, "Blah... blah ... blah ..." The sad part is that I was really excited to read this author, and I feel like a putz for not loving her work. (Said author and book will remain nameless, because I'm not a mean-hearted person, and just because I don't like it doesn't mean no one else will like it.)
The reason I mention it at all is as a lesson to those of us who think every drop of ink we apply to the page has to be something glorious and amazing, such that clouds will part and angels will sing. Not true. No matter how big your name is or how many awards you win, you will still on occasion write something that just doesn't work.
THAT'S OKAY.
In fact, that's expected. Don't sweat it. Just move on. Write something else. Work on honing your craft, and you'll find that you do get better - when you put the work in. And after you've put the work in, and you happen to write a piece of drivel ... well, that's what the delete button is for, right?
In the hopes of writing something brilliant - but knowing full well that with a writing prompt like this, it could turn out to be drivel - our prompt for this week is:
"He handed me the box, then turned and ran away."
Enjoy!
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My response:
We all knew who he was the first day he walked in the door. Sure, we were only five year olds, more concerned about who could get to the swings fastest and what we were having for snack than where we were in line to the throne. But with him, there was no question. No complex equation of where you were now that Aunt Eliza had passed on. Just the one, certain number.
One.
He looked at us with wide eyes, the way my baby brother stared at the tigers in the zoo. His mouth dropped open, but he didn't speak. That was his first mistake, though to this day, I don't think he understood it. The rest of us had been raised by fighters, nobles and would-be nobility scraping and scheming to get closer to the top, and we knew fresh meat when we saw it.
Daft Little Princeling.
We all knew the words stung. Tears need no translator. Within hours of walking through the doors, we'd put him in his place ... taught him a lesson. I'd like to claim I had no part in it, but I would be lying. I didn't learn to be noble or brave until much later. At the beginning, I was just as cruel as any of the others.
They say we love most those who love us first. So it was with us. It was an invitation to his birthday party. Of course, it couldn't be just an envelope. His station required much more. He walked up to me at the end of the day, shoved a small, blue box tied with ribbon into my hands, then turned and ran away.
He never told me why he chose me, and I never asked. Inside the box was a pearl necklace and a crisp sheet of paper with the time and date. I put the necklace on and refused to take it off. And the next time someone called him a Daft Little Princeling, I socked them in the eye.
The reason I mention it at all is as a lesson to those of us who think every drop of ink we apply to the page has to be something glorious and amazing, such that clouds will part and angels will sing. Not true. No matter how big your name is or how many awards you win, you will still on occasion write something that just doesn't work.
THAT'S OKAY.
In fact, that's expected. Don't sweat it. Just move on. Write something else. Work on honing your craft, and you'll find that you do get better - when you put the work in. And after you've put the work in, and you happen to write a piece of drivel ... well, that's what the delete button is for, right?
In the hopes of writing something brilliant - but knowing full well that with a writing prompt like this, it could turn out to be drivel - our prompt for this week is:
"He handed me the box, then turned and ran away."
Enjoy!
*****************************************************************************
My response:
We all knew who he was the first day he walked in the door. Sure, we were only five year olds, more concerned about who could get to the swings fastest and what we were having for snack than where we were in line to the throne. But with him, there was no question. No complex equation of where you were now that Aunt Eliza had passed on. Just the one, certain number.
One.
He looked at us with wide eyes, the way my baby brother stared at the tigers in the zoo. His mouth dropped open, but he didn't speak. That was his first mistake, though to this day, I don't think he understood it. The rest of us had been raised by fighters, nobles and would-be nobility scraping and scheming to get closer to the top, and we knew fresh meat when we saw it.
Daft Little Princeling.
We all knew the words stung. Tears need no translator. Within hours of walking through the doors, we'd put him in his place ... taught him a lesson. I'd like to claim I had no part in it, but I would be lying. I didn't learn to be noble or brave until much later. At the beginning, I was just as cruel as any of the others.
They say we love most those who love us first. So it was with us. It was an invitation to his birthday party. Of course, it couldn't be just an envelope. His station required much more. He walked up to me at the end of the day, shoved a small, blue box tied with ribbon into my hands, then turned and ran away.
He never told me why he chose me, and I never asked. Inside the box was a pearl necklace and a crisp sheet of paper with the time and date. I put the necklace on and refused to take it off. And the next time someone called him a Daft Little Princeling, I socked them in the eye.
Monday, May 4, 2015
Characters
I was able to attend an SCBWI conference last Saturday. One of the classes that I attended talked a lot about character development and how, as authors, we need to know our characters so we can write them. I've had the experience of sitting down to write a story, with a plot figured out, but with sketchy characters. I couldn't write, because I didn't know how they would react to the situation I put them in. Before I could start, I had to go back and do some writing on my own to flesh out the characters in my mind. The scenes I wrote didn't end up in my book, but they helped me to understand who my characters were and how they would react when I tossed them into my book.
In keeping with the activity from the conference, the writing prompt is:
Choose a character from a current work in progress (or make up another character) and put them on a path in the forest, just as they round a bend and find a large black bear.
Enjoy!
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My response:
(I almost feel like I'm coping out on this one, but it was the first character of mine that I thought of, and it is exactly what she would do.)
Emmaleen stopped and looked up at the great, black beast on the trail in front of her. It was looking away at the moment, but the wind would carry her scent to it. She tightened her shields and continued on. The path was wide enough for both of them, if the bear was willing to share, and if not, Emmaleen would just have to push him off.
In keeping with the activity from the conference, the writing prompt is:
Choose a character from a current work in progress (or make up another character) and put them on a path in the forest, just as they round a bend and find a large black bear.
Enjoy!
*********************************************************************************
My response:
(I almost feel like I'm coping out on this one, but it was the first character of mine that I thought of, and it is exactly what she would do.)
Emmaleen stopped and looked up at the great, black beast on the trail in front of her. It was looking away at the moment, but the wind would carry her scent to it. She tightened her shields and continued on. The path was wide enough for both of them, if the bear was willing to share, and if not, Emmaleen would just have to push him off.
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