RDF/RSS Feed
Atom Feed
Writers are fond of saying that everything is grist for the writer-mill (which suggests that writers’ minds are like big stones rotating in one place, but…any metaphor can be carried too far) or potential ingredients in the cauldron of Story (same caution applies: metaphor!) Some things are more obviously useful right-this-minute in a story; others take a long time to find their spot in the tapestry. But I thought you might enjoy hearing about some real-life interruptions that have (or had) obvious story potential.
The most universally useful reality bits are those that remind the writer of real things that happen to everyone (and thus can find places wherever you need that particular character-reaction. Loss–of a job, a home, a friend (by quarrel, illness, moving, death.) Unfulfilled wishes–the college you didn’t get into, the person who didn’t love you back, the job you didn’t get, the “perfect” house/car/coat/dog/pair of shoes sold to someone else just when you’d made up your mind to get it. Hopes fulfilled (see above list and add your own.) Any of the things that evoke common reactions, and allow the writer to make the character’s reaction real to readers.
“Interruptions” are a category in themselves. We all get interrupted; most of us don’t like it (though a friend of mine says the discovery of a non-fatal as she was being prepped for a different and unpleasant medical procedure was a desirable interruption, as it put off the evil day for months and maybe forever if she turns that color again…) Yesterday, for instance, the red horse escaped at morning feeds when the person doing the feeding failed to latch the gate from the horses’ side of the barn to the human side (where the feed room, equipment and fool storage, and aisle between those is.) Tiptoed past the person feeding, who in the feed room, and into the back yard. Which has two gates to the front yard, one at either end of the house. The front yard communicates with the rest of town, which has a highway running through it.
I became aware of this while working away in the study, when the thunder of hooves and a red streak passed the study window. The subsequent twenty minutes were busy, giving me at least a small cardio workout. Horse is now back in. But how rich in detail for a story…not just a horse escaping, but my thoughts and feelings, the other person’s thoughts and feelings (both of us expressing our thoughts and feelings), the discovery that a horse who will tiptoe through a barn aisle will not (at first anyway) go through an equally wide gate if the old rambler rose’s strands are hanging down to tickle its back and nose (which meant I got to the east gate before he got out), the discovery that the same horse will not go through a wide, unobstructed gate into a familiar paddock, even though someone’s there with a bucket and some feed in the bucket…when it’s more fun to play chase in the backyard. (I suspected this might be the case: this is the Drama Queen horse. Anything for drama.)
Stories can be plotted or written by instinct, but characters need to be interrupted in their progress through the plot…their horse gets out. Their phone rings even as they’re on the way out the door to do something they consider important. Phone calls (or, given the setting, someone running in the gate to say that the spotted bull has gotten out AGAIN, or someone’s least favorite in-laws arriving, or a child falling and getting a scalp cut that bleeds copiously all over the formal clothes the person put on for the important event they’re due at, or someone spilling a hot drink into the space-ship’s control panel…) are inevitable. And very, very useful in making fiction believable. And in keeping the plot moving when characters have settled into a comfortable position and are talking far, far too long about things that aren’t that important (in terms of finishing the book on time and having it be a story, not just a 400 page conversation.
The horse escaping is only one of the interruptions that have given me ideas and reminded me of the value of interrupting characters. There’s the night the hot water heater gave up and flooded the hall (it entered my dream as a hurricane–wind and water–through which I was fighting my way. Then I woke up. Then I stepped into the flood.) There’s the night I woke up to the sound of small child throwing up. The time I went in the bedroom with an armload of laundry (a regular, but necessary, interruption to writing) and found a small snake coming in the window, through the hole in the screen we’d made for the phone line to the “fire phone” (no longer then in use.) Longer interruption, as the terrified snake made it all the way in, and zipped under the bed. (We had to move the bed, and what else was under it.) The time I went out to the kitchen for a drink of water and found a much larger snake coming in the kitchen door. Neither snake was venomous; the smaller snake didn’t survive (sorry, snake) but the larger one did, though both of us were excited and not thrilled with each other.
When I was on the ambulance crew, call-outs were always interruptions but always elements in the Story Cauldron…beyond the obvious (learning up close what gunshot and knife wounds look like, how quickly a means of transportation can turn into a means of mangling one or several human bodies), emergencies reveal details of human behavior very useful to writers. How different people react to violent interruptions in their own lives, for instance. To death, injury, property damage, scary things. Though coming home to a large batch of bread that has over-risen and oozed over the top of the bowl, across the counter, and onto the kitchen floor–where it forms a gooey mess–leads to thoughts of writing horror.
Another horse-related interruption occurred years ago, when I was rehabbing a Thoroughbred mare for someone and he was coming to pick her up. She was a spooky, difficult mare–it had taken me a long time to convince her that I was not going to hurt her–and being a Thoroughbred, and former polo pony, she was a hard keeper and took a lot of careful feeding to get her weight back up. On the day appointed for her homeward journey, I put her owner’s halter and lead back on her, tied her to a post, and–since it had been raining overnight and she was wet–started rubbing her down with a burlap pad to dry her before the trip. I’d rubbed her down before; she hadn’t objected to my touch since the early days. All the sores were healed up; she’d grown a new coat. The owner’s choice of lead was a nylon webbing one–which means it could stretch. But that day–she went bonkers, set back on the lead, stretched it out, and the !**! pot-metal snap they put on that kind of lead broke, and the broken end flew straight at my face. I got my hand up–saved my eye–but it broke the index finger of my right hand as well as cutting it to the bone of the first joint, cut my thumb and the second finger as well. I explained to the mare, when I could speak, that she was lucky she’d broken my trigger finger. Went in, bandaged the broken finger tight to the other one, and let her owner deal with her when he arrived. (I had been using a heavy cotton lead rope with a big stout bull snap on it–the only safe lead rope in my admittedly biased opinion. The broken end of the pot-metal snap showed clearly that the “brass” color on the outside was just that–color.)
It is possible to keep working on a book with a broken index finger, since there was no mousing to be done in those days. Just typing. Put a proper splint on it and typed flat-fingered. Horses and families are an excellent source of interruption.
Yesterday’s escapee, you ask? Back in confinement, but very, VERY interested in that gate every time someone comes near it. He thinks it would be fun to get into the yard again.
Comment by Annabel (Mrs Redboots) — April 19, 2012 @ 11:03 am
Is that the red horse that was the model for Paks’ horse? No, probably not, now I come to think of it, given that the “Deed” was written some years ago now. Maybe you bought him because he reminded you of Paks’ horse?
Comment by elizabeth — April 19, 2012 @ 11:26 am
No, not really. Believe it or not, I don’t buy horses by color, and my favorite (if I did buy them by color) is bay.
I thought I had a picture of the horse I envisioned as Paks’s paladin horse on my website, but I don’t. That was Ky (Omar Khayyam, his registered name–and yes, Ky Vatta is one of the characters I named for a horse): sixteen hand, 1200 pound Arab/Saddlebred cross. Short white sock on one front, two neat taller socks on both hinds, star. I should dig one of the pictures of him out of my files and append it to this post.
Except that right now I need to go out and do some groundwork with Mac, because the farrier’s coming tomorrow, and we don’t need Mac to be his usual sulky-bad-delinquent self. Two work sessions today with Alpha Mom carrying the Weapons of Doom should convince him that he’s not the ruler of the universe he thinks he is. (Husband reports that he’s now VERY interested in that gate–both at night feed yesterday and morning feed today.)
Comment by elizabeth — April 19, 2012 @ 12:04 pm
And just added a post with some pictures of Ky and links to pictures of three other horses.
Comment by Moira — April 19, 2012 @ 1:48 pm
Great post – but you forgot one of my favorite interruptions: when your favorite author posts something on the blog (especially snippets, but more or less anything). Heh. It’s nice to hear examples of the way Real Life makes it into fiction: we’ve all heard the “story fodder” saying, but this makes it much more immediate and tangible.
I had to laugh at “both of us expressing our thoughts and feelings” (not that I don’t sympathize, but I’m sure it was a colorful exchange!) and the horror-esque Dough Rising From the Black Lagoon. 🙂 No laughs at the snakes, though. *shudder*
It sounds as though that horse keeps you on your toes!
Comment by Elizabeth D. — April 19, 2012 @ 9:13 pm
A great laugh. We have had many cats of different personalities, but in two categories usually: the ones who did not personally sign the paperwork that said they would be forever kept indoors, and therefore feel it is their duty to try every possible way to exit (for a few hours); and the ones who had been rescued after almost starving, and afterward never wanted to go out.
We would slide into the house with the first category of cat, carefully maneuvering the groceries past, never leaving the door open more than a crack. Those kitties always enjoyed the chase; the humans don’t get enough exercise, and a good run would be best, preceded by pretending to cooperate. And those kitties have two categories too: the kitty who felt that he wanted to exercise the humans before leading the humans home, and the kitty that really needed to be chased in the most devious way and had to be grabbed, who preferred mud to defeat. The kitty that just wanted to exercise the humans but who would lead us home decided to stay home when he became terminally ill when given choice of the vet’s, while the kitty that was the mud girl decided that she would just stay at the vet’s.
The latter category that does not want to leave will stand before a wide-open door, sniffing the breeze, and even sometimes coming out on the porch if a human has to talk to U.P.S. or somebody, but if a human forgets for a moment that the cat is out, will run quickly inside and hide under furniture. The cats of this variety happened to be the most intelligent of the cats we have ever owned; talkative, protective, noticing things that needed to be done (such as getting to bed on time or waking up, and checking on sick humans), ruling the house.
We have never met a cat that didn’t like to pray. We have never met a cat who didn’t worry about something. Almost all of the cats we have owned love to create sculptures of furniture, most also would knock things down to make room for themselves on a high perch. Most cats are much more friendly than people say cats are, some to the point of trailing us around the house every moment. They all knew their names and would come when called, as long as not called too often. We never met a cat that was like any other cat.
Comment by Karen — April 20, 2012 @ 1:46 am
I don’t have as many distractions as you do (or, perhaps, they’re just other distractions), but I can certainly testify to the enrichment they offer.
I’m currently limited to cats as “otherkind”, but I have vivid memories of many other pets, each (including the cats) with such different personalities that I am compelled to believe that God’s imagination so far exceeds our own that I am humbled every time my 12-year-old Tom comes up with a new trick. Fortunately, he hasn’t got the girth to escape the [door] and prance around the property like the Irish Setter of my youth enjoyed at any possible occasion.
I often reflect on the joy my Setter exhibited in playing the game of “catch me if you can” like your horse did at times when my Tom is playing with a catnip mouse (or fighting with my otherwise angelic Siamese-cross). The fact that they’re each so different is the reason they’re so distracting — but would we have it be any different?
Comment by Karen — April 20, 2012 @ 1:54 am
Less etherial comment. You mentioned in your twitter feed that your yarn stash is starting to exceed your available space.
Since I completely concur with your need to retain your library (no matter how you have it organized), I would greatly appreciate any notes on how to simultaneously organize a yarn stash.
Since I have an equally sizeable fabric stash (as well as projects in progress in all of the above categories), I’m desperate for guidance!
Comment by Annabel (Mrs Redboots) — April 20, 2012 @ 3:54 am
Ky is beautiful! Love the pictures.
Comment by ellen — April 20, 2012 @ 4:56 am
We got home this morning to find bread hadn’t risen at all…someone forgot to add the yeast! At least it wasn’t messy…
As for cats, I’ve had cats for most of my married life and the one I have now is the first cat I’ve had that’s really my cat, or, more accurately, I’m HIS human….he totally adores me, follows me everywhere (unless he’s sleeping, the only thing he loves more than me), is ecstatically happy when I return from prolonged absence (they won’t let you take cats on planes or ships, so unreasonable). I just find it really touching to have such single-minded devotion from an animal.The last time I went overseas by myself for nearly two months the cat missed me as much as my hubby did and would actually seek attention from my husband, who complained he was “like a toddler – with claws!”
Comment by Margaret — April 20, 2012 @ 8:47 am
How about cats who want to go everywhere you go but do it by staying a half-step ahead of you at all times, expect you to match their pace and hold you responsible for maintaining a safe distance?
Comment by Jenn — April 20, 2012 @ 10:27 am
Hmmm Cats and yarn. Amusing combination of comments.
For yarn storage I have drawers, closets, a book shelves, bags, filing cabinets. It is a bit of a maze but don’t worry I will knit my way out.
good luck in finding new spaces. Do you really need all those dishes in your kitchen? 🙂
Comment by elizabeth — April 20, 2012 @ 10:55 am
“Do I really need all those dishes in the kitchen” she asks.
YES!!!! (Remember, cooking was one of my passions before knitting returned. Cooking is why one of the closets is now a pantry and where I store the BIG stock pots.
Comment by Jenn — April 20, 2012 @ 4:23 pm
BIG stock pots would store yarn quite well. Just make sure you only use them for lamb stock and no one will notice the wooly taste.
See problem solved!
Comment by elizabeth — April 20, 2012 @ 4:34 pm
BIG stock pots store staples. Everything’s full of something.
Comment by Kevin Steverson — April 20, 2012 @ 6:32 pm
Ma’am,
Speaking of jumping horses. I walked by this book in the local library, where I quickly and without shame, judged it by its cover and checked it out. A great read. A true story. And an underdog to boot. Hope you don’t mind me posting this. I though you might enjoy it.
The Eighty-Dollar Champion: Snowman, the Horse That Inspired a Nation
by Elizabeth Letts (Goodreads Author)
4.1 of 5 stars 4.10 · rating details · 925 ratings · 312 reviews
November 1958: the National Horse Show at Madison Square Garden in New York City. Into the rarefied atmosphere of wealth and tradition comes the most unlikely of horses—a drab white former plow horse named Snowman—and his rider, Harry de Leyer. They were the longest of all longshots—and their win was the stuff of legend.
Comment by elizabeth — April 20, 2012 @ 8:21 pm
I don’t have that book, but in one of my books there’s a picture of Snowman.
I’ll have to look out for that book.
Comment by Daniel Glover — April 21, 2012 @ 6:52 am
Then there’s the even older, true story about Dan Patch, the harness racing horse that never lost a race. From what I know, he, too, was a born showman and loved working with people.
Comment by Jenn — April 21, 2012 @ 7:41 am
I hunted down your tweet on knitting space and I love the idea of the net from the ceiling. Then I had a vision of you getting all tangled in your various projects and being found like Frodo. Death by knitting. It would make for a very interesting obituary.