It Came From Outer Space…

It’s very easy to want to make your characters perfect, or some times better versions of yourself, you can strip away certain flaws and foibles, transcend the boundaries of human existence but flaws are what make a character genuine. If your character is too perfect he or she is just going to tick off your reader, and in my case the writer as well.

My first stories at age ten involved people who discover that they’re princesses of some strange mysterious country, things of that nature are many little girl’s dreams but then to not only discover that you’re a princess but that you have super powers and billions of pounds in cash…all these just added on top make the story flat and dull. The characters become cardboard cut-outs.

I remember one story I started involved a family that moved to a mysterious island. Every family on the island and two children most one boy and one girl, but a few had two boys or two girls. I mapped out the entire island named every single family and all their members and wrote down who lived where what the island had as far as stores and other public buildings. I, of course, had names for the family moving in, including the fact that they had triplets, all girls, and how the twin girls of the triplets, given this story involve fraternal twins and one of the fraternal twins split into two. I wrote out several pages of it and gave it to Mum, she responded with a page of notes, asking me very poignant questions such as WHY would they move to the island in the first place? What’s going on with that?

All these mysteries needed to be answered, wouldn’t the family be very freaked out by the fact that every single family on the island is essentially a nuclear family? How do they feed themselves? The island can’t possibly be big enough to have all the animals and fields needed to supply it’s population. How does it function? Where are the multiple generations? grandparents? How are there no families with children younger than twelve? etc.

These are all valid points. I hadn’t really thought things through any further than “this is neat!” At the same time it taught me that even if you don’t initially tell your reader what’s going on you have to know the answers to these questions. To me the family was just another card-board cut out. I wanted them to be there so I put them there but that doesn’t work. There has to be a reason; it might not be a good reason. It might be that one of the parents grew up on the island and left but is now back because they’re looking for family inheritance; or it might be a caring reason such as a plea from a friend who is still there. The island might be an innocent place, or it might be some kind of freaky science experiment; either way there have to be reasons and motivation.

My main focus had been the fact that the twins were literally trying to kill their sister Odette. Why would they do that? Were they just messing around? Why would sisters suddenly turn so malicious? Sociopathy? Mind control? Alien possession? Boredom? I’ve since realized that killer twins is a bit cliche but at the time it was a horrific and enticing idea to my fourteen year old brain. Odette was the “perfect” child and they were the “devil” in return, foils, as I had recently learned in English class; but since then I’ve discovered these things should be more dynamic, that characters work better provided they’re more well-rounded and have more motivation than just that their author is bored and wants to try something; but then when you’re younger it’s easier to see the world in black and white, there are less muddy areas.

Now, I’m very embroiled in the mud. I understand that people who are good can do some horrendous things if they’re properly motivated, and that people who are on the bad side of a conflict, as far as a main character might be concerned probably have positive motivations for doing so which make them much more sympathetic. Still my characters surprise me. I was writing something out last night which wouldn’t let me sleep about Sam from “Too Deep”. He was talking about his “nemesis”; a character that’s on his side who he can’t abide and I realized that it was a really good thing said character was there. While he and Sam despise each other and disagree on pretty much everything, that character is the only reason that someone who is very significant to the plot lives, because if Sam had his way he would have just offed her because all he sees is liability.

Normally I see Sam as someone who is pretty conscientious of humanity and people’s right to life. I find it hard to imagine he would just kill someone even though I acknowledge that early on he’s very kill you as soon as look at you. Later on I see the conscientious person and I forget the evolution that has to go on for him to get to the point where he realizes this. You don’t just switch from feral to educated.

There’s one point I’m writing out where he and another rebel are essentially “lost” and they stumble across a group of houses and are looking for supplies, and I realize, this is someone whose grown up on the streets of what is tantamount to hell…why would he think twice about killing these people if he views them as a threat? Just as he teaches his rebel ally about emotion, conversation skill and intuitive response, there are things they may well agree upon that I find objectionable but he wouldn’t.

I’m finding the creativity surging again and I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad way that it’s going about it. I’m likening it to when you start a lower ab workout and find that you have enough adrenaline to keep going so you progress to doing other things like step aerobics, calisthenics, squats, glutes, you name it and then you find that you’re suddenly stiff and sore and can’t actually move because you’ve overdone it.

That’s what I’m afraid of happening here. I mean I have “Too Deep” that I’m working on and I have the werewolf story that I’m doing whenever I need a break from “Too Deep” but not a break from writing, and then last night two pages of this surged out unbidden and I’m going, “Oh, this is really neat! I really like this! this could tie in with the sort of autobiographical thing I was thinking of doing…” and then this morning looking at it again with fresh eyes I’m going, “this could really shoot me in the foot…”

Because it is a nifty idea and it could be therapeutic in many different and hopefully healthy ways but at the same time I don’t want to overload myself, by rights the story should be able to wait until something else I’m working on is finished, except I know me and the way these things tend to go and that’s not likely to be the case.

I’m running a game based on the “Too Deep” universe, and it’s really interesting to see the differences which occur when the players are “let loose” in the universe to make their own changes.

There are so many different things going on in various places of the universe; with the government and the Martians and the people on the Lunar colony. It’s weird that the players bring up the most nitpicky things some times. There’ll be one of them asking me how they have to do credit card processing on the moon versus the Earth, the amount of internet access that they have in various places, and even on this mission there’s debates about what kind of animal noises a remote control hand might make and if a small remote controlled sports car could be rigged for it to drive.

I’ve been writing a lot, yikes I just typed alot, which reminds me of something I read on Hyperbole and a Half, which was awesome: The Alot is Better than You at Everything. She’s a really awesome author, thanks to her I’m wondering if bear’s like coach gifts, see she wrote another article on Bear Fashion & Accessories I recommend her alot. (See what I did there? I’m SO witty :p)

Anyway, my point was that I’ve been writing quite a bit (phew) about Max/Sam/Dan and his adventures in “Too Deep” (that’s a story not a place). The title comes from the fact that often times when I’m writing his stuff this one lyric comes into my head, “’cause I’m in too deep, and I’m trying to keep, up above in my head, instead of going under.” (Apparently they’re by Sum41). I’m not sure what it’ll be called when I’m done with it but “Too Deep” works for now as I have a file name on my computer rather than maxdansamnadirzenithlunarwarstory.docx.

So, I’ve been writing quite a bit of that stuff and it’s proving interesting because of the way his voice comes across, several of my friends who have been privy to this early drafts for editing help have commented that they can hear an accent on the words when they’re reading, so I’m figuring that’s good. The main character has a “definite voice” woo!

Here’s a little bit of him as I’m being all braggy and hyper right now.

Swipe a cred stick from two people I pass there’s a bit of “OMG are you okay?” “I’m fine. I’m going for my boyfriend, we’ll go to the MPs, no really it’s okay,” one good thing about most Zen siders is they’re quick to forget you if they don’t really care and are just playing polite.

I buy some dark comfy things at the mall, and some bandages, gauze and ‘septic. Remember the first time I came back all beat up and Chambers was all put this on it and we’ll tape it and I’m all WTF is that? and he’s all it’ll stop the wound getting ‘fected and I was all…whu? We used to put water on it. I mean not water like over here, Sol used to call it Rooskywater burned like Hell but–Chambers thought that was real funny. He’s all, that’ll work in a pinch but ‘septic is…’septic is…better…yeah.

So, I was up and patch up. Then I buy new lighters, cigs, aspirin other mini-med things and stuff I can trade with over on night side, food that won’t go bad real quick, can openers for that food, blankets, clothes that’ll last. It takes a bit of time in the bathroom to pack it all nice and tight. I put Helena’s tag on the other chain I found and put it under my shirt. Then I take the done for cred sticks and wrap ‘em in my clothes and throw ‘em in a ‘cinerator by the casino before going for the border.

So, here’s hoping I can pick the thread back up once we get back from all our errands today.

I’m surprised that I’ve been able to do some writing this past week as our to do list has been pretty heavy.

Thankfully there’s been no curvatrim reviews to go through, but between the bank, the housing insurance change, trying to get the munchkin into pre-school (apparently I missed the deadline for VPK round-up thanks to all the bank issues and me being forgetful BUT wait lists, right?) and now add to that things from the lawyer I need to sort out today too.

Still I managed to write sever little bits on ‘Too Deep’ *gasp* and also some on the werewolf story. I’ve decided with both of them to just write the info I’m getting and sort it out later. “Too Deep” was supposed to be being written in chronological order, but I can’t get it out of me that way so I’m writing bits and pieces and will mash them up later, whereas with all the information in the werewolf story really needs to go backwards and forwards in time partially being told in flashback so the reader doesn’t get overwhelmed with all the past life aspects and back story, but it’s coming out almost chronologically so I’m going to have to rearrange that later too.

The main thing at this point that I keep reminding myself is this is First Draft this is not the final polished manuscript to send out, so it doesn’t matter that it’s not coming out the way I intend, the content is out, the story is there and this proves it. I can polish it up later. You don’t polish a table while you’re making it, you put the wood frame together, then you sand it down and then you varnish it and THEN you polish it.

So here I am writing a little blurb again. This one is about the twins that I’m thinking of doing some work with for a while as a sort of ‘Too Deep’ detox. I decided to go on with suntan as a theme given we had a nice day yesterday and I needed something to focus around.

“What are you doing fruit loop?” I ask, coming down the stairs. She’s frantically leafing through the mail, “trying to hide love notes from the psycho?”
She slaps the mail on the counter in the front hallway and rounds on me, “If you must know,” she says, “we were planning to take Amy to the tanning salon for her birthday and I was looking for the brochure they were supposed to send. You know how Mom feels about that kind of thing.”
I’m not convinced, but I don’t want to push, “Make sure to stock up on tretinoin,” I tell her before going into the kitchen to snag a bagel before school.
As I’m throwing away the wrapper from the bagel bag I see several bottles of wine poorly disguised in the trash can, which can only mean that Dad actually made it back from his trip last night.
This should mean though that he’ll be asleep until well into the afternoon so I’m not going to have to deal with any drama until then.

I’ve been doing a lot of handwriting the past few weeks. I found it incredibly strange to realize that I am indeed capable of writing stories without the aid of a computer.

It’s a sad reflection. I used to while away many an hour curled up in a chair or in a recliner out on the deck at our first American house writing and writing until I could barely hold a pen any longer, and I haven’t done that in years now I realize. I wound up handwriting almost 19 pages of things for “Too Deep” and some of it was hard going because my hands would complain and ache, and other times it was hard going because things I were writing brought about such a strong emotional response…but more on my thoughts on living your stories in another post.

I really, really want to be able to finish this story despite everything but I wonder some times if I have it in me. It’s annoying on that front too because I’m still not able to get my social security disability and further on that front because it’s causing tension in the household because of the lack of funds and the inability to work, and the days where I can create and do things which are followed by the frustrating days, and the “discussions” because we’re not sure at this point what we can do.

I hear hopeful things about certain places, like Allsup, which I mentioned. I’ve had a bit of information from them which sounds really neat especially that they’ve helped so many people receive the benefits that they need and their 98% success rate. I’m not even sure what my lawyer said his success rate was; how fast they are, and how they only charge if they get you what you’re supposed to get.

However, we’re with our lawyer now, and I’m not sure what else we can do to speed things along. The hang-up seems to be my psychiatrists office and details to do with receiving medical records and the like. Apparently it’s not that simple that I can just go down there and get the records myself and then mail them to SSDI. Something I hadn’t realized; but then there are many things I’m unaware of because the way things work wind up being strange and alien.

I suppose that’s why I relate to aliens and writing things from the perspective of an outsider to whom everything is completely foreign. It’s always been easy for me to step into other people’s shoes, and on some level that is good and then when I find myself grieving so much for things that I write and go through because I’ve experienced them in other life times or can feel what’s happening on the page so viscerally. I wonder will it evoke the same in someone reading it? Is this a good thing? Right now I’m not so sure.

For a few days I will be without a computer. I’m able to use my room mate’s computer for a few days and then she goes on vacation, and right about then is also when Toshiba should send the box to take the laptop to their repair center. Except it’s really at the point where I can’t use it at all, the near constant scrolling is just crazy-making.

I was talking to an associate who said that he might be able to fix the desktop, and spoke about the possibility of connecting it to a Samsung HDTV, but the monitor itself and all the peripherals work fine, it’s just the desktop which is dead. I have some prospects which are very heartening, that I will write more about when I’m not sneaking time on Kore’s computer, but if my various blogs are rather quiet right now, that is why; but it’s giving me a nice break from the hussle of the internet and really helping me kick the Facebook app addiction, so that’s a good thing to come out of this. I think.

Also I have 19 hand-written pages of the story I’ve been working on and more knocking their way around my brain, so that’s good too. I’ll have a ton to write up once I have a functioning keyboard again.

Just a little short bit from a bit later on in ‘Too Deep’ than where I’m at right now.

“I can’t believe you brought me here,” Roy says, “These people are clearly in league with the same oppressive government that we fought to overthrow. How else would they have come through with so much.”
I’m done at this point. Roy and all his entitlement bullshit. How much did he actually deal with? Yet he acts like he had it so rough, and like he actually fought for anything, “Seriously?” I ask him, “I have friends who live in there. People who did a whole lot more than you ever did.”
“Excuse me?” he turns back hands still on the motorbike helmet, and puts it forcefully down on the bitch seat, “Are you saying I don’t know what I’m talking about?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” I tell him, “Have you ever worried for anything in your life except if the spa was out of spa filters or if Daddy wouldn’t pay for your car to get charged? What did you actually do during the war? Paint a fallout shelter? Pay someone to paint a fallout shelter? That woman in there housed pilots, kept them hidden from the authorities, her husband worked his way up through the ranks of Magill by coming up with sneakier ways to supply the resistance with much needed medical supplies and ammunition…”
Roy is actually unable to talk for a moment, but then, “Bull. Shit,” he says, “You’re just trying to make me feel sorry for them. Look at where they’re living!”
“If you’re going to be a douchebag go back to school. I’ll find my own way home.”

Just a little something I was inspired about given I’ve been drawing up plans for the biosphere and the Lunar colony.

There were subtle and also dramatic differences between the biosphere they had stayed in during training and the one here on Mars. Aside from the fact that the Martian sphere had to be a lot more finished before they saw it than the terrestrial one had given they couldn’t just pop outside in the frigid Martian atmosphere, there were many different things about the area she was now in.
They had been brought down to the Martian surface by shuttle and then had to carefully walk a few meters from the space shuttle bay doors to the airlock, passing as they did several domes with different environments in them. Kelsey couldn’t wait to see the rainforest dome first hand.
The airlock led to the central dome where the dorms and control center were. After they shed their space suits and put them in the airlock’s storage lockers they made there way into the dome. A blast of air which felt warm compared to the outside hit them once they stepped onto the soft grass. As she looked around there was the familiar site of a pond with trees around, and benches and tables dotted here and there to make a communal meal area; but then off in a shady little glade there were treadmills and weight benches and a stair climber device, and near there a flower bed was being dug. She could see the doorways leading to different domes, and as one of them opened and shut to let an employee in and out she heard a faint bleeting.
She felt her heart lift. She was home.