characters

Wilkins Micawber
from David Copperfield

The beauty of good books lies inside of the people living in them.  Characters can make a dull story exciting and a good story even better.  

Here are some of the most memorable characters of books that I’ve read:

• ·         Macon Leary (The Accidental Tourist,  Anne Tyler) – a frightened, anal-retentive man who is content in his sheltered world until his son is killed in a random shooting.  After this happens, Macon’s marriage falls apart and his back goes out, forcing him to move back in with his brothers and sister in the house he grew up in.  As much as Macon tries to make his life manageable, it continues to spiral out of control...which (of course) is the hope for Macon.  Brilliantly written, Anne Tyler made Macon a loveable protagonist I was unexpectedly cheering for.
• 
  
• ·         Marianne Dashwood (Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen) – romantic, young and beautiful Marianne explodes off the pages of S&S, throwing caution into the wind and losing her heart completely for John Willoughby, the dashing neighbor intent on sweeping her off her feet.  While her family carefully maneuvered around her, I knew that Marianne was headed for disaster and I could do nothing to stop her.  She reminded me of myself and then other Mariannes I have later known.  I became personally attached to her in the story.
• 
  
• ·         Wilkins Micawber(David Copperfield, Charles Dickens) – the most conflicted man I have ever met in any page of any book!  Mr. Micawber was reckless and foolish with his spending habits, causing his family great shame and eventually going into debtor’s prison.  Still, his heart was the most solid of gold and he became a friend to the orphaned David (the book’s real hero) and was a loving husband and father.  His optimistic outlook on his life (“Something will turn up!”) and his coaching of David not to go over his budget made him likeable and tragic at the same time.  I loved him completely.
• 
  
• ·         Jing-Mei Woo (Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan) – After losing her mother unexpectedly, June (Jing-Mei) realizes that her Aunties want her to take her mother’s place in their club (the book’s namesake) which meets to play Mah-jong and invest in stocks.  After realizing that the Aunties have arranged for her to “finish her mother’s unfinished business” June is plunged into a journey of self-discovery and forced reflection that she wasn’t bargaining for.  Graceful but insecure; brave yet shy – June reminded me of every woman I ever met and left me in tears at the end of her journey.  I have read the book about 10 times... and each time I think she is the most unlikely and graceful of heroes.
• 
  
• ·         Ivan Ilyich (The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy) – A man who, at the end of his life is faced with an illness and has nothing to do but lay in bed and reflect.  Sound boring?  Ivan was relentless in the detail of the triumphs, disappointments and passions in his life and spent the last three days screaming in bed.  I have never, ever put down a book with such transfixed horror and sadness.  It still haunts me to this day, the way he wondered what would follow this awful death....
• 
  
• ·         Yasin Abd al-Jawad (Cairo Trilogy by Naguib Mahfouz) – A man with a large appetite and passion, Yasin strolled through the story meant to belong to his father with such clueless confidence that it unnerved me.  To this day he epitomizes the attitudes of men in old Egypt – misogynistic and unable to weigh the consequences for his actions.  Yasin bled off the pages and made me hate him, hope he wasn’t caught in his folly and later wish he could find a woman who could understand him.  Mahfouz’s brilliance in writing him reminded me of every prodigal that never seems to understand how his own behavior affects his family. 

Now – those are charecters who are fictional.  They never lived, and yet they are people I’ve met and I remember.

I am no expert in developing characters.  What I do know is that I go through a little inventory before I begin writing.  Maybe writing good characters mean that you need to know them well before they appear on paper.  

Here’s some questions I’ve been told to ask myself before developing a character:

• ·         Does this person exist already in your mind? 
• ·         What year were they born?  What are some of the things happening in the world that would influence them?
• ·         What drives them? (if they are driven)  What inspires them? 
• ·         What do they do?  Do they do this out of choice or because they have to?
• ·         What does their world look like?  Who do they eat lunch with?
• ·         What is their definition of good and evil?  What do they base their beliefs on?
• ·         What are their flaws?  Their little annoying habits?
• ·         What are their strengths?  Their courageous little habits that makes them loveable?
• ·         When they wake up in the morning, what makes them want to get up?

Once details about the character start forming in your mind,  begin writing about them.  Eventually you will know them and “remember” a defining event in their life that has influenced/changed them.

 Exercise:  HAVE FUN!! 

• ·         Begin by finding a picture of a person in a magazine, on an advertisement – the web ANYWHERE. 
• ·         Give that person a name.
• ·         Ask yourself what this person is going through right now. 
• ·         What do you know about this person that no one else does? 
• ·         Is there a story here?

writing

“To write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write”   

~ Gertrude Stein

Public Domain Image Details

The greatest gift of writing is being able to communicate truth from the depths of your heart.  It’s why cavemen chiseled on walls; why the spiritual songs were written.  The Bible had to be written by a man’s hand to communicate the greatest truths and the heart of God.  Soldiers took up pens and precious paper  in trenches to declare the deepest love for their families back home - love that survived even the most horrific events of war.

Sometimes  I pick up a book and I hear the words of someone like they are a friend crying out to me.  “Here I am!  Connect with me!  Understand!” 

Writers write to connect with people.  Connect their heart with another persons.  Inspire them, motivate them, love them.  Writers write for the same reason painters write.  We write to deliver beauty to a world that needs it.  We write to translate the unjust pain of a people, left without a voice and too weak to cry out for themselves.

We write to be understood, to cry out primordially from the depths of our soul.

Today as you write, dear writer, let the heart of the God who created you come out, voicing the pain and anguish; the joy and the exhilaration; the sorrow and the pity of all that is in the world.  Focus on one thing and write. 

People mistake writing a story for giving birth to a child very often.  I’ve done both – and writing is easier.

Not much... but easier.

• Yesterday I wrote three chapters of a Young adult novel I think I’m going to call “euphobia” (no capitalization of the title).  euphobia is the fear of good news. 

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," – that is allYe know on earth, and all ye need to know.

-John Keats

story

Stories are things that soothe us, stimulate us, make us laugh, cry, forgive and hope all in the matter of a few pages. William Shakespeare told good stories for the stage, still produced today.  In the past century, modern authors have seen their stories  adapted for the screen - and most of the time the book is better.

WHY?

A good story sticks in our mind and forms a memory - usually attached to a sense (comfort, fear, love).

I remember my first story that stayed there – it was of a little boy named Sambo, a boy who meets four hungry tigers on the way to school.  He gives to one his shirt. To another his pants (Sambo had a diaper on underneath in my book),  to the next his shoes, and to the last his umbrella so they will not eat him. The tigers in the story began to show off for each other, each saying they looked the best.  In fury and frustration, they end up fighting and eventually chasing each other around a tree until they churn themselves into butter.  

Sambo (who has encouraged the tigers to fight) picks out his possessions from the churned butter, then  and scoops the butter to bring home to his mother.  At the end of my picture book, Sambo’s family are all eating stacks and stacks of pancakes – smothered with the butter.

The story of Sambo has since been banned because it is 1) Politically incorrect (Sambo was black - the word "sambo" has since been considered a racial slur); 2.) encourages animal cruelty (turning tigers into butter is mean); and 3.)lacking in educational value, (other than the educational fact that butter is good on top of pancakes). 

Stories don’t  have to make sense.  

The ones that stick in our hearts have characters who are clever, frightened, weak, vulnerable and think well under pressure.  They encourage us to root for them as they navigate the rough waters of their predicaments, and cause us to cheer when they prevail.  They remind us that revenge is sweet, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and good should always triumph over evil.  

Sometimes they just make us hungry (I remember lying in my bed after the story of Sambo and thinking that I would do anything for some pancakes right now).

Some things never change.

Jesus spoke to people in parables (stories)  to explain the Kingdom of God.  The deep truths in life are better disguised so that people make their minds up themselves.  It is good to have part of your heart attached to a story so that your future decisions can be shaped by its message.  Aesop called this a fable.  Jesus called it a parable.  

It works.  

Today is the November 1 - the beginning of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and I am embarking on writing a novel in one month.  This will require two hours of focused writing a day.  My novel (at the end) will be rough, unedited and ready to revise.  

Care to join me?  

If not, let this month encourage you to write - a daily writing prompt will appear for an idea for a story that will be birthed in your head.  

BEGINNING a good story:

A good story begins with someone we care about.  They usually find trouble right away – or they’re already in trouble.  They are ill-equipped to handle their trouble and often they seek out the wisest person they know. 

This is the beginning of Great Expectations, Seven Samurai, The Outsiders and each of the Star Wars books.

Begin with an idea...but make sure that trouble is close at hand.

Daily Writing Prompt: 

Write a short story about a child who is lonely until he/she meets an unlikely friend.  

Halloween

Vince and Alicia 1990

My Grandma was born on October 31^st.  I grew up knowing Halloween as the candy holiday where I got dress up and then go to my grandma’s for her birthday.  A strict Catholic, she loved the holiday but always got up first thing the next morning to go to mass for All Saints Day.

My happy childhood memories of Halloween blossomed into terrible experiences with the holiday, later seeing it as a time where everyone around me got drunk and dressed like vixens with their boobies hanging out.  They smoked funny things and lost themselves in a holiday that seemed designed for kids...and I felt left behind.

Actually, in those days I felt left behind in general.  I eventually found peace and satisfaction in the identity that was mine and always had been: as a daughter of God, saved by grace and loved by the greatest savior imaginable.  I was in love with Jesus, and finally my life made sense.

It wasn’t until later that I was forced to learn about the hideous awfulness of Halloween.  I was a 911 dispatcher and on that evening there was more vandalisms and fire crimes than any other night of the year, even New Years Eve.  We had to watch training tapes about Satanists and they made me aware of the rituals that were held on this night.  I’d have rather remained ignorant.  I couldn’t imagine subjecting my own tender children to going out on this night, and so I did what any reasonable, threatened mother would do: I took the holiday away from them.

I wish I could say it was the first time I overreacted.  It wasn’t.  I was a classic overreactor, and the memories of me losing it over this pitiful day make me wince in embarrassment.

As a Christian, I also was thinking that if October 31^st was the devil’s holiday, how could we celebrate it?  In our social circles the day was kind of a taboo subject,  seen as Satan’s High Holy Day when all demons were unleashed into the air to wreak havoc on our unsuspecting children. 

Handing out candy at Grandma's
1994

Back in real life, my kids just wanted to trick-or-treat.  All of their other friends were doing it and they wanted to dress up, go to houses and get candy.  Looking back, I see that they were waiting for me to say “I’ll go with you we can go to a few houses in your costume.”  They also loved me.  When I posed the “reality of what trick-or-treating really was”, they decided it was easier to acquiesce than to argue with me.  Even my kids didn’t have the vocabulary to say “I don’t want to worship Satan, I just want candy, mom.”  

I look back on all of this and think that I failed my kids. 

I failed them for outlawing the holiday instead of remembering that there was a genuine fun-ness about it.  I failed them for forbidding trick-or-treating;  for teaching them (prematurely) about the wicked origins of the day and all that I saw happening at the 911 center.  Most of all, I failed my kids because I caved to peer pressure.  It was really my Christian circle that made me feel as if there was only one choice- becoming an opponent of the holiday and all it stood for.  I had no middle ground and my decision to ban the holiday was final.  I had not been given divine wisdom after I prayed;  this was my own idea, not God’s.

Today, I apologize to my kids.  They really have a lot of grace for me and they forgive me readily.  But they can remember my fanaticism and I don’t think they got through it unscathed.  So when they tell me about the ways they are planning to celebrate, I am happy and I say go for it.  

After all, God redeems everything.

Happy Halloween.

Alicia - Mountain Playschool
1991

conversation

Photo Credit: Mayo Clinic
But I added the thought bubble

I looked at my reflection tonight as I washed the dishes and I saw my mom.  The problem is, I look like my mom, but I don’t have her personality.  I can’t be there for myself like she is for me.  My reflection was false advertising.  

It took me about one minute of missing her before I snapped into a vain response of “I’m not that old, am I??”

This is just one way that aging is unpredictable.

Actually, I don’t mind aging at all, I kind of like it and I have Mario.  There are some things I miss about being young – like those “pig-out” days where I ate grilled cheese sandwiches and cookies all day like I was getting ready to run a marathon.  I can’t do those days anymore.  Those days (if I ever try them) suspend the functions of my liver and kidneys and I end up cursing grilled cheese sandwiches like they were a shameful binge that I just took part in.  I rarely find myself in that predicament these days.

Tonight was a night where I decided to make chicken strips (dipped in egg and fried with bread crumbs) and French fries.... both of which (for anyone who knows me) used to be staples in my diet.  I just don’t eat them together anymore because I go around complaining the next day that I can’t sit properly or that my weight went up three kg’s in one day.  

So tonight I threw caution into the wind and poured a great deal of sunflower oil into a pan and got ready to fry. What the hell... I haven’t had fried food in (what...?) a week.

Everything came out stunning perfect and the best news about being almost 50 is that my cooking is great every single time.  I couldn’t finish either the French fries or the chicken strips because they (wait for it...) disagreed with me.  I started to feel my liver talking to me.  “You’re not serious!” it said from  the right upper-quadrant of my abdominal cavity.  “You want me to process that?”

“Give me a flippin break, liver,” I answered.  “Shut up while I’m pigging out.”

I am not afraid to talk to my second largest organ because it is supposed to obey me, right?  I finally gave up eating when I started feeling  unsatisfied and bloated.  I had eaten about 15 french fries and three chicken strips.  I’m becoming a lightweight.

The truth of the matter is that aging is not for the faint of heart.  I work out every day and my poor body has started to demand more rest, more health, more manners from me.  I have to listen to it because I want to be healthy for as long as I can be, which basically I am.

I miss my mom.  Tonight as I finished washing the dishes I cried for her.  Of course my liver told me I was crying because I ate fried food and I wasn't getting my proper intake of valuable nutrients.  

Shut up, liver.  

Shut up while I’m crying.

The human liver has over 50 functions - check it out here to see just a few of them.

water

I want to tell you a story of water.  It is a simple story, one that I could add a bunch of application and wisdom to, but I don’t want to. 

Yesterday was my weekly date with Bessie, my friend who I have had weekly dates with for a few years.  

When I called her she told me that she had no water – Diepsloot extension 1 had no running water at the community tap.  Instead of lunch she asked if I could take her to fill buckets at a local tap.  Of course I agreed.

After hanging up with her I phoned Petros, our friend who runs a pre-school just outside of Diepsloot in a place called Plot 1.

“Hello, Janet!” he greeted me, answering his phone. 

“Hello, Petros how are you?”

“I am fine,” he said.  Niceties exchanged; let’s talk.

“Petros, do you have water?” I asked.  This was a measure of how far water interruption stretched. 

“Yes, we have,” he answered.  I could hear him smiling.  “People are coming.”  Petros knew that I was going to ask him if people were walking with their buckets to his place to fill up with water.  He preempted my question. 

“Which extensions are out?” I asked him, trying to get a feel of which areas of Diepsloot had been affected by water loss. 

“I think all of them,” he said.

“Can I bring people to fill their buckets?” I asked boldly.  I knew he was probably already overwhelmed. 

“Yes,” he said, gracious as always.  “Please come.”

I drove into Diepsloot through extension 9 where Portia lives, knowing she would be at work but her neighbors would be home.  Right away her close friend saw me driving up and greeted me. 

“Portia is not here,” she said, and I tried like crazy to remember her name.  It had flown out of my head.

“I know,” I said, smiling and shaking her hand.  “Do you have water?”

“No,” she replied.  “Since yesterday it has been off.”

“Can I fill your buckets?” I asked.  Community in Diepsloot means community.  If I filled her buckets then she would share with Portia and the boys and everyone would have water that night. 

“Yes,” she said, already walking toward the emergency tubs. “Let’s go.”

We loaded three 25 liter tubs and four 5 liter jugs into my car and I told her I’d be back.  From there I drove into extension 1, taking note of the long lines of people at the water tanks, big green things filled once a day by Johannesburg Water during periods of “interruption”. 

Bessie and her neighbor bring buckets and tablecloths.

I called Bessie from the end of her street to tell her that I was there.  She and her neighbor met me, carrying 25 liter jugs and the basket of tablecloths Bessie had washed for the church.  Hmmmm...I guess we’re going to Junction to fill the buckets and return the tablecloths, I thought. 

Bessie got in to the car, greeting me with a long sigh.  She asked me to pray for her neighbor, who was already sick and getting sicker because of the lack of water.  Johannesburg Water, Diepsloot’s provider,  usually gives residents a heads-up when there is going to be an interruption unless there is an emergency or a breakage...or they mess something up.

“So, let’s go,” she said. 

At the church we saw Bright and Tumi, who also said they had no water (extension 4) and Lucky who said he was also out (extension 6).  Keep in mind that Diepsloot’s last census said that there was 150,000 people living in the close spaces that are mostly shacks –factor in that many of the residents are children and elderly. 

I was literally making a drop in the bucket for all that were without water.  My friends seemed grateful, but I was ashamed that I could not do more.

Charles and a young customer.

After about an hour of filling buckets and containers Bessie and I made the trek back in my overloaded Toyota, whose rear end was nearly touching my tires.  Bessie and I joked that we should lay off of fried foods (we both are slightly doughy).

So we made deliveries- first in extension 6 where Lucky and Charles live.  We saw Charles at his table spaza, selling chips, snacks and airtime.  One of his customers came over and asked if he could have one of the buckets I filled.

“Why?” I asked, smiling.  “They aren’t my buckets, they are my friends’.”

“Well, you can go buy another one for fifty rand,” he suggested.  I laughed.

“Okay,” I said. “Give me fifty rand and I’ll go buy another.”

"Give me one of those..."

He smiled suspiciously, realizing I wasn't buying it.  “You have a car, I am poor.”

“You’re wearing Nike's,” I laughed.  “Look at my shoes, Pic and Pay specials.”  Charles was laughing, knowing that his customer didn’t realize I was used to Diepsloot and all of its residents asking me for things only because they have been trained to believe that we have everything.

“You are white,” he said, finally.  It was his ace he was waiting to play.

“I am Hispanic,” I said, acting offended. “Do you hear this, Charles?  He’s calling me white!”

Lucky's friend helps us deliver.

Charles and Bessie were laughing, and the man sat down on a stool by Charles’ table.  He asked me for a job, since I wasn't budging about the water I was carrying for friends. 

“I honestly know of nothing right now,” I said, switching into a serious tone.  “But if I did, I would most likely give a job to someone who was trying to find one.  Why aren’t you out looking?”  He shook his head and I could tell he was discouraged.  I felt bad for him... but there were so many like him here.  Young, discouraged, a little bit drunk and looking for a hand out.

Further into extension 6 we met Richman, who was also in need of new spectacles, which I actually remembered to bring.  He asked after Mario and we made polite conversation, then he told me something interesting. 

“Extension 5 just got water,” he said.

“When?” I asked.

“Earlier today,” Richman answered.  “I think it’s coming down to us.” Richman motioned with his hand, illustrating that the southern extension 5 would trickle forth water once JW opened the main ducts from there.

We said goodbye- back to extension 1.

I decided to back the heavy buckets down Bessie's "street" - a dirt road that is more the size of an alley - and I'm not so good in reverse.  I nearly hit the post of a shack while I was backing in but everyone was forgiving because I was bringing water. 

Not angry at me, the crazy driver.

“I’m so sorry,” I said to the owners of the home, who had tapped the back of my car in a warning.  They were laughing and didn’t seem upset.  I asked to take their picture and they posed, graciously. 

“Goodbye, my Spiritual sister,” Bessie said, removing the last of the 25 liter buckets.  “Now I am going to bathe.” 

She hugged me and we laughed.  Bessie always looked nice; always smelled fresh.  She lived in a place with no running water inside of her home.  Could I do it?

I drove back through Diepsloot, passing line after line of people waiting to fill their buckets by tanks that were either drying up or empty.  I wove my way back to Portia’s and her beautiful friend whose name I could not remember. 

“You are back!” she beamed, happily.  “You were not overburdened with the task?”

“Not at all,” I said.  She thought I had only fetched water for her and she could see I only had a small car. 

“I will tell Portia you came by,” she said, after I had offloaded the last bucket.  My car’s suspension returned to normal. 

“Tell her to sms me when the water comes on,” I said.

“Thank you,” she waved as I drove off.  As I left to drive back to my house with electricity and running water, I thought of my friends.  We are so alike in so many ways, but so different in others. 

Last night, before a meeting, I called Portia. 

“I am still on my way home,” she said.  “I worked after-care today.”

“So you don’t know if the water is turned on yet?” I asked.  I could hear the din of taxi noise in the background. 

“I’ll call you when I get home,” she said.  Later that night she called and we made arrangements for the next day.  Portia and the boys spend the night at least once a month where we catch up and have extended time together, so we made a plan that if the water was not on by the morning I would pick her up for our visit very early so she could do the washing at our house. 

 When I woke up this morning I poured myself a cup of coffee and did the dishes.  How much I take for granted!  Clean water, delicious and nourishing, is not a right of mine, but a privilege.

I thought of Portia and decided to call her. 

Just then I got an sms from her, as if she were reading my mind: “Hi Janet u cn pick us @3 the water is back on & am doing the washing now thanx.”

YEEEE-hhhhhaaaaaaWWW!!!

I sms’d back: “Yea for water! See you at 3.”

Yea for water... yea for water.

780 million people lack access to clean water - that's more than than 2 1/2 times the population of the United States. For these and other water facts, visit water.org here

believe

Looking Up....  
Big Trees State Park, Northern California 2011

So brothers and sisters, your faith has encouraged us in all our distress and trouble. Now we can go on living as long as you keep your relationship with the Lord firm. We can never thank God enough for all the joy you give us as we rejoice in God's presence. We pray very hard night and day that we may see you again so that we can supply whatever you still need for your faith. We pray that God our Father and the Lord Jesus will guide us to you. We also pray that the Lord will greatly increase your love for each other and for everyone else, just as we love you. Then he will strengthen you to be holy. Then you will be blameless in the presence of our God and Father when our Lord Jesus comes with all God's holy people. (1 Thessalonians 3:7-13)

The greatest reward in full time ministry is seeing people believe God. 

Before you think that’s simple, look at where we are – we live in the City of Gold, Johannesburg, where the Golden Rule is practiced every day.  Whoever has the gold makes the rules.

In Jozi, more people worry about finances than anywhere else we’ve lived (which is saying a lot).  We have friends who are wealthy; friends who are poor but  they all are really cool people we enjoy hanging out with.  The coolest thing is when we hear how God is making Himself real to them.  It may be in the mercy and love He makes real and abundant during a trial, it may be a great blessing that was unexpected.  Most of the time I am encouraged by my friends praising God despite their circumstances, not because of them.

God is real.  He is very personal and cares about the details of our life.  Still, it is easy to feel overwhelmed by our circumstances and wonder where He is.  The things that are beautiful to me are when someone says that they shifted their eyes to Him and believed that He is who He says He is. 

Today as I read this passage in 1 Thessalonians made me sit and remember the days in the USA after we had been exposed to our relationships with people here in Africa.  It made me remember all of the times we have left for holiday and prayed that God would “watch over things” while we were gone.  It’s okay if you laugh here...we can start to feel like we’re the answer to people’s needs rather than God ....

So when someone tells us of looking around, seeing desperation and then remembering they are really taken care of by a Father who loves them it is wonderful.  When they know beyond a shadow of a doubt that His Holy Spirit is directing their steps it feeds us, excites us, and rejuvenates us. 

Today as I read this, I prayed for so many here... but I prayed for my family back in the States.  How much we pray for them!!  We pray very hard night and day that when we see them again we can have a conversation about the deep things of God – the greatest conversation we can have.  If they need us to, we pray to God that He empowers us to supply whatever they need for their faith.  We trust God that He will be the solid rock for them – just as He is ours. 

After all, our answers are found in Him, the Father who loves us.