Update: The Mountain Requires Blood

I am pleased to report that I have accomplished one of my 2013 goals today! I have finished draft 2 of my novel about Guatemala, The Mountain Requires Blood!

Mayan Temple at Tikal, Peten, Guatemala

This is the closest this monster has been to being done in a while. I plotted it in the back of my parents’ car on the way home from Albuquerque in September 2010, and I wrote most of the first draft in two sittings in 2011. The first draft barely hit 54,000 words, which is hardly enough for a novella.

Draft two is slightly more substantial: 77,000 words.

I still have quite a bit of cultural things to double check, and there are some details that need polish. But the way it stands right now I think is pretty fabulous.

In case you’re curious, here’s my (rough) pitch:

Jamie Logan is twice orphaned, once when his Guatemalan birth mother gave him away and twice when his adopted father dies suddenly. On his death bed, Jamie’s adopted father makes him promise that he will find his birth mother, but he doesn’t say why. So Jamie leaves the comfort of New England to seek out his birth mother in the jungles of Guatemala. Calling on the aid of local missionaries, Jamie searches from village to village to find the woman who gave birth to him and then gave him away. But Jamie doesn’t really know what he’s getting into. He wants to find his mother, keep his promise, and go home, but God has a different plan. On the journey, Jamie learns that faith is real, even though he never had it, and he discovers that sacrifices need to be made, although the most important one has already been given. Because what he finds in Guatemala has less to do with who his mother is and more to do with who his father truly was.

I’m going to be running this by some folks at the 2013 Glen Eyrie Writing Workshop in Colorado Springs in June. This is the first time I’ve ever written a novel about the real world. This is also the first time I’ve written a novel specifically for a Christian audience. So I have a lot of questions.

But questions aside, it’s good to get this thing done. Mainstream writing is hard work! I’m eager to get back to my fantasy worlds where I can just make stuff up if I don’t know an answer! =)

Thinking in your brain: How internalization helps build character

My brother is a fountain of good advice. He’s also insanely quotable. He has been since he was a child. He just has a way of phrasing things that are interesting—and oftentimes catchy. Of course, sometimes they make absolutely no sense, but I’m sure there’s some depth there that’s simply out of the mental grasp of mere mortals.

But one of the things he used to say came to mind as I was editing a novel last night. He used to say: “I’m thinking in my brain.” I’m sure he meant that he was thinking about something, but that’s how he used to describe it when he was a little kid.

Well, that statement came to mind last night. I was working on my novel about Guatemala (The Mountain Requires Blood), and I came to a chapter that I thought I had done a pretty good job on. And as I was reading through it, I realized what it was lacking: Internalization.

What is internalization?

By Darkness Hid by Jill Williamson

Well, it’s a fancy way to describe a character’s thought process. Here is a good example of what it looks like in practice:

          Sir Gavin stroked his mustache. “What is your day of birth?”
          Achan shrugged and moved his waster from middle guard to low guard and back. “No one knows for certain, so Poril always celebrates it on the first of spring. This is my sixteenth.”
           “Well, I should like to give you something as well. A day of birth is one thing, but you are a man now. And I feel you deserve a man’s weapon. As soon as you finished your squire training, I shall give you a real sword.”
           Achan’s lips parted. “Sir? Truly?”
           “Aye. Truly.”
           Achan stared at the old knight, dumbstruck at the mere idea of owning his own blade. “Wait. Am I really that close to becoming a knight? I thought—”
           “You’re close enough to be publicly declared my squire. And, in case you didn’t notice, most squires have a real sword.”
           Achan had noticed, but he also knew his situation was far from normal. He still couldn’t fathom why Sir Gavin needed him as a squire. He wasn’t doing squire’s work, after all. He’d done nothing but learn from the knight since he’d been recruited. Not that he was complaining.

Excerpt from By Darkness Hid, Blood of Kings Trilogy Part 1, Jill Williamson

This is a scene from By Darkness Hid, an awesome book I read recently. The whole trilogy is amazing, and I had it handy so that’s why I’m using it as an example. Plus, the main character, Achan, has such a strong voice, he’s an easy example of internalization.

This bit has a lot of dialog between Achan and his teacher, Sir Gavin. But the part that I want to point out is the last paragraph:

          Achan had noticed, but he also knew his situation was far from normal. He still couldn’t fathom why Sir Gavin needed him as a squire. He wasn’t doing squire’s work, after all. He’d done nothing but learn from the knight since he’d been recruited. Not that he was complaining.

This is an example of internalization. Achan could have very easily said this out loud. Or the writer could have explained it. But instead, the writer chose to use Achan’s voice to explain the situation. We’re in Achan’s perspective, so this is easily done—just explaining the situation through Achan’s eyes without it being something he’s saying out loud or referenced as something he’s thinking.

That’s internalization. It’s a character’s thoughts as narrative content. What does this do for us?

Well, it helps us understand that Achan is indeed the main character. We know for sure that we’re in his perspective. It’s his story we’re reading, and this helps solidify it.

Secondly, it helps build your character’s voice. Part of the strength of By Darkness Hid (as well as its sequels To Darkness Fled and From Darkness Won) is the strength of the characters’ voices. The two main characters, Achan and Vrell, are strong and unique and powerful, and we get to experience the story through their eyes because there is a great deal of internalization that goes on.

What happens if you don’t use internalization?

Honestly? I think your story will be boring. You can try to fill a novel with quotes, but people want action. You can fill a novel with action, but people will miss quotes. Internalization is the bridge between action and character.

I spent fifteen minutes berating myself last night because my main character had fallen into a routine of simple action and statement. Jamie went here. He did this, and then he did that. He said this, and then he said that. But what was he thinking? What is his perspective inside? That needs to be communicated.

This is an excerpt of what I wrote in my first draft of The Mountain Requires Blood:

          I stare at the Temple of the Jaguar and pass over the Temple of the Mask, and I stop on the last temple, the one Sarah hasn’t identified yet.
          “And what about that one?” I pointed to the other temple.
           Sarah scowled. “That one I don’t remember. But you can climb it if you want.” She indicated the stairwell and ladders going up the side.
           It looked very steep.
           Jake was surrounded by the people from Santa Rita. They were all asking questions, and it looked like Jake was asking questions too—probably about the Q’eqchi ritual in progress at the center of the park. Sarah was having a conversation with one of the women—Claudia I think it was.
           I didn’t feel like tagging along with them anymore, and seeing the whole park from the top of that temple sounded like it would be amazing.
           I headed for the stairwell and started climbing.
           It was steep. It was far steeper than I was expecting and the steps didn’t feel solid, but I didn’t stop. A sudden desire to reach the top of that temple had surged through me, and there was no denying it: I was going to make it to the top. I was going to look out over the jungles of my native country and I was going to feel like a Guatemalan.

Excerpt from The Mountain Requires Blood (draft 1), A.C. Williams

 There’s some internalization going on, but not enough to satisfy me. I want to know what he’s thinking. I want to know what he’s feeling. So this is what I revised last night as I’m working through the second draft:

          I stare at the Temple of the Jaguar and pass over the Temple of the Mask, and I stop on the last temple, the one Sarah hasn’t identified yet.
           “And what about that one?” I point to the other temple.
           ”I can never remember that one.” Sarah grunts under her breath. “But you can climb it if you want.” She nods the stairwell and ladders going up the side.
           It looks very steep.
           Jake is surrounded by the people from Santa Rita. They are all asking questions, and it looks like Jake is asking questions too—probably about the Q’eqchi ritual in progress at the center of the park. Sarah turns from me and starts a conversation with one of the women in our group.
          I look back to the unknown temple.
          It does look steep, but it’s nothing steeper than anything I’ve climbed at home. And what am I worried about? I rode a horse through a jungle yesterday. Climbing the stairs on the side of a temple should be a cake walk.
And I don’t feel like tagging along with Jake and Sarah’s little Sunday school group anymore. I’m sure they’re nice people, but they don’t want anything to do with me—kind of like I don’t really want anything to do with them.
           So—climbing the temple it is.
           I head for the stairs and start on my way up.
           I realize soon that I was right again. It is steep.
           It’s far steeper than I was expecting and the steps don’t feel solid, but I’m not going to stop. A sudden desire to reach the top surges through me.
           I’m going to make it to the top. I’m going to look out over the jungles of my native country, and I’m going to be Guatemalan—or Q’eqchi—or whatever I am. If I can just get to the top, maybe I’ll know for sure.

Excerpt from The Mountain Requires Blood (draft 2), A.C. Williams

Feel the difference? I could. Internalization changes everything (Plus the fact that I got my tenses straight also helps; whose bright idea was it to write a book in first person present tense? Geez.). My main character doesn’t have to say those things. I could just as easily have used my own voice to describe what was going on in his head, but isn’t it more effective to let him do it? It’s his story after all.

So the next time you’re reading through the draft of your novel, ask yourself what’s missing. If it feels slow or long or dull, try internalizing. Let your main character tell the story. Your main characters think in their brains all the time, just like the rest of us do. Shine some light on what’s going on in their heads, and I’m willing to bet it will make a world of difference in your story.

The dangers of hugging Lebanese girls

I don’t really experience allergic reactions often. I’m allergic to just about everything that you can inhale–dust, pollen, molds, mildews, cat hair, dog hair. If you can breathe it, I’m probably allergic to it. But even then, the worst reaction I’ve ever had was a stuffy nose or sneezing. But as far as what you eat or what touches your skin, I really haven’t had a problem until recently.

The first allergic reaction I had was in November of last year (2012). My eyeball swelled up. It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced. My vision was all right, but the white of my left eye started burning and burning. I took a shower to see if I could rinse it out, but it didn’t help. And then it just started swelling. Totally bizarre. So my parents came out to get me and took me to the emergency room. The lovely folks at St. Theresa’s did some tests and gave me some Benadryl, and that took care of it (except for the exorbitant medical bills that taught me a valuable lesson to take the Benadryl first before you go to the emergency room).

I haven’t had any other trouble.

Until Tuesday night this week when I hugged an adorable little Lebanese girl.

Me and Maria (Lil Lil Sis) at a wedding

Funny thing is, I hug this crazy kid all the time. She’s practically my little sister, and that’s what I do with little sisters. I hug them. Often.

But apparently she had something in her hair or on her skin that my skin decided to dislike intensely.

I gave her a great big hug and then went about my business until I noticed that the bottom left side of my neck and jaw were beginning to burn. Another friend who was with me told me that I had a rather large red mark appearing there that was starting to swell up. So I ran to the bathroom—and sure enough! A big rectangular-shaped red spot on my neck and jaw, and it burned like fire. Then, I started getting them on my right forearm and bicep and my left forearm and bicep.

It was crazy! I thought for sure it couldn’t be whatever was in her hair and skin, but all the places where the marks were popping up where the places where I had touched her when I hugged her.

So I took some more Benadryl, and it went away in about 20 minutes (see, I learned my lesson from the eyeball incident). I still don’t know what caused either of the reactions, but I learned two important lessons from both of these experiences:

1. Don’t touch your eyeball—like, ever.
2. And only hug adorable little Lebanese girls if you have Benadryl in your back pack.

Lessons from Sparky: Printers take you seriously when you tell them you speak Norwegian

I think I’m going to start keeping track of the conversations I have with my brother. I seriously can’t make up the stuff he says. I never could. Even when he was a little kid, he would say the craziest things. He just has a way of phrasing things that always comes off hilarious … especially when he’s not trying to be funny.

I’m planning to blog our way through Dallas, Edinburgh, Carlisle, and London in the new few months, and for those of you who read this blog on a regular basis, it might be helpful if I introduce you to him before he starts appearing frequently.

My brother, Andy (a.k.a. Sparky)

I always learn something from my brother every time we talk. Most of the time it’s completely useless information that will only be good in a novel where I have an extremely nerdy character, but I suppose I have plenty of nerdy characters. So I thought that maybe I should start keeping a log of Lessons from Sparky (my brother’s nickname). And there’s no time like the present because recently he taught me yet another valuable lesson.

We went to see Iron Man 3 on Wednesday night (great movie, by the way). It had been a long, stressful day, and it was a nice way to unwind. We ate at Old Chicago downtown and hit the Old Town Warren for the $5 movie night. And he was wearing his snazzy fedora hat and with his long hair and beard and engineer-ish clothes, and he just makes me smile.

One thing Wichita has is awesome movie theatres. If you’re ever in Wichita, you’ve simply got to see a movie here at one of the Warrens. Great picture. Great sound. Comfortable seating. And reasonable prices. You can’t beat it. We have plenty of other little cheapy theatres, but I prefer to spend a little more and really enjoy the quality of the place.

The content of our conversations is about as random as we are, which is really saying something. But at some point he started telling me about the latest person’s computer that he fixed. He’s always fixing people’s computers, and if he’s not fixing their computers, he’s building computers for them. Someday I’ll do a post on his computers. They’re amazing. But the most recent repair work he did was on some little old lady’s computer. I think he likes fixing computers for little old ladies because they feed him, but that’s my opinion.

I guess he had installed some kind of photo editing program on it. I can’t remember. The funny part of the story actually had more to do with the printer. The lady had a printer that needed to be set up, so he took care of that. And the printer asked him to complete a survey. He doesn’t think much of surveys and he told the little old lady that they weren’t important. So he pretty much just made up stuff through the whole thing. He said the printer would be used in Greece in a small business of eight to nine people and that the primary language was Norwegian.

Yes. Norwegian.

And he clicked submit. They decided to print a test page to make sure that the printer was set up properly, and lo and behold! The LED display screen on the printer was in Norwegian. So apparently telling the survey program that you speak Norwegian changes the internal settings on the printer so that it only displays Norwegian.

So he had to poke around on the keypad for a while until he figured out which Norwegian word identified the language settings. Meanwhile, the little old lady thought it was hilarious, and all he could ask himself was why he hadn’t picked Spanish “instead of frickin’ Norwegian.”

So that was a valuable lesson. Don’t BS printer setup surveys. They curse at you in Norwegian.

Little kids with big personalities

I got to eat lunch today with two of my favorite people, Jim and Shelley Dinsmore, missionaries in Guatemala.  I’ve gone down to visit them and help them put on dramas in jungle villages a few times before, and I always have an amazing time. They’re home on furlough, which is a fancy church word for the span of time missionaries come home to touch base with their supporting churches and just basically take a break from the field to visit with family. I’m sure there’s a more accurate definition than that, but that’s how I’ve always defined it.

We met up at a Mexican place downtown and had a wonderful time just chatting and catching up. (Yes, we ate Mexican. No, they aren’t tired of Mexican because Guatemalan food is very different.) They brought Eden with them, their 14-month old daughter, and I was so excited because I really hadn’t gotten the opportunity to spend any time with her. I met her for the first time a week or so ago, but fifteen minutes of chatting with her parents didn’t really give me the chance to get to know her then. So lunch today was awesome!

The Incredible E, cutest little kid with the biggest personality ever

And let me tell you: This little girl sparkles.

I love their boys already. I had never really been into babies. Jim and Shelley were my first close friends to have children. I haven’t ever been around little kids. I didn’t babysit as a teenager; I was a librarian. So I never really liked kids. I mean, I taught a kindergarten boy’s small group at church for a little while, but that was only for 20 minutes once a week. But until I got to hang out with Jonah and Silas, I had never spent extended amounts of time around babies.

So I was floored when at six months both boys showed completely different personalities. Awareness. Intelligence. I didn’t know kids that young knew who they were, but Jonah and Silas did. (Any of you who are moms and dads who are reading this: please feel free to laugh at me. I’m a 30-year-old single woman who has zero experience with children.)

E is just bright and cheerful and verbal. She points to the things she wants and lets you know exactly what she’s thinking. And she’s such a ham! She knows when you’re paying attention to her and plays it up all the way. And when you’re not paying enough attention to her, she makes sure you know she’s unhappy about it. When she wanted to tell me something she’d tap me on the arm. When she wanted something from me, she’d point to it and reach for it. At one point, she wanted my menu, so I opened it up and gave it to her and she pointed to the words inside like she’d seen us doing.

Some part of me still expects little kids to just be bumps on logs, like their personalities don’t show up until they learn how to form intelligible words. But the kids I’ve met so far have blown that theory out of the water. So that was my ironic observation of the day: Little kids have big personalities.

And grownups seem to have small personalities. Either that, or they hide them because it’s the fashionable thing to do. But I can tell you that the coolest grownups I know (I still have trouble calling myself a grownup) don’t hide who they are. They are who they are no matter where they are or where they’ve been. It starts with being honest about yourself, and there’s no one more honest than a little kid.

I think we adults could learn a lot from little kids…. Except the part about rubbing food in our hair or on the people sitting next to them. That part may not be necessary. Funny? Absolutely. But not necessary.