Don't Let Go

I was watching Law & Order and knitting two nights ago, and it was one of my repeats I love with Detective Munch (SVU). I have been a fan of Richard Belzer since he was in NY radio way back when. Anyway, at the end of the episode, he is shouting at his captain that he KNOWS the woman they let get away with murder, indeed got away with murder, because of her wealth and her family's power. And for the captain, it would just be better if this whole "thing" went away. But Munch isn't wired that way. He can't let go.

In real life, my Russian relatives have been known to carry grudges for over 60 years. They're definitely the "I'll spit on your grave" type. My dad is the "I'll spit on your grave type." Though he would usually use another way of expressing it, and I'll just leave it at that.

In the last year, I went through something where everyone around me just wanted me to move on from something. But for me, it was not about carrying a grudge at all. (I don't.) It was about what is RIGHT. Standing up for truth. And for that, I'm one of those people that even if it costs me dearly (and in this case it did), I don't care. I hold my head high--in fact, if I am being honest, indeed I look down at the people who opted for political expediency over doing the right thing. I can't imagine living your life without a backbone--or being so weak-willed that if someone talks nastier and uglier, you'd rather hide in their shadow than speak up. And damn if I am not happy my father raised me with tenacity.

It's tenacity, at this point, that has me even WALKING based on my auto-immune disorder's recent showing.

But spin it into fiction.

Moby Dick would not exist if they decided to go home and put the ship in drydock.

Not letting go of the truth, of what is right, no matter the cost, is the stuff of nearly every thriller or detective story I can think of. If the detective/cop, etc. was not "thisclose" to be killed over a secret, there wouldn't be that much of a storyline.

But this guy and I have discussed it, because at SOME point, there can reach a line of demarcation where believability is stretched and most people would walk away. MOST PEOPLE. I think the way to make it believable isn't the level of risk . . . it's the back story of the character. It's planting enough there to make you believe, totally, that even if it means death, or losing everything, THIS character is going to see it through to the end.

In ILLUMINATED, my 2011 Penguin release, it's a YA romance. And at some point, the situation my character finds herself in means risking not her life, but her relationships with the adults in her life. I.e., "getting into BIG trouble." Now there are teens hardwired to not care if they get in trouble, but the teen in the story isn't one of them. She is the class valedictorian, a virgin, doesn't drink, doesn't do drugs. She's a brain. But as she researches the illuminated manuscript, she comes to believe--as only the romantic and the dreamers can--that somehow the fates NEED her to uncover the story, and that somehow, this will bring her closer to understanding her own mother. I think the motivation is clearer this time around . . . .

So think about it. What character have you created that "won't let go" even when it makes perfect sense TO let go? Tell us about it!

Bugs Under Glass

People fascinate me. Which is a good thing since I write about them for a living. I'm always observing them. And I have to say, there are certain kinds of people who are are particularly fascinating. Part of me wants to avert my eyes when I watch their behavior . . . but part of me wants to study them.

And that's part of fiction, because we generally don't write about people whose lives are perfectly ordered. That would be ho-hum. We don't often write about "nice" people with perfect lives. Or we might write about those people . . . when their lives get upended by the bug-types.

Lately, I've had two "types" that are as fascinating as watching a bug under glass. One is the Troublemaker. This is the person, whether a busybody, or just a manipulator, who never (ever, ever) simply "is." They are always in conflict--with someone, with an institution, with the world at large. A simple trip to the drug store could result in their anger over a shopping cart left in the parking lot--and by God, someone is going to hear about it! They create drama wherever they go and don't mind who they pull into that drama. I watch these people with mouth agape sometimes. Life is hard enough without having to create this stuff.

The other I've watched under glass is the Assassin. This kind of person is the one who will be in the company of ten people and everything is lovely . . . and they will find a way to slip in the most vicious of put-downs--but it's so subtle, you almost miss it (unless it was intended for you). How do they do that? I saw this happen two weeks ago, and it was breathtaking in its brilliance. It was character assassination . . . but done with a Southern smile. It wasn't directed at me . . . but as a Bug Observer . . . I saw it for what it was. And I almost (almost) had to applaud the woman. She's going in a book. She did it with a smile. Fascinating Bug.

So we all have the "types" who fascinate us. What type do you study? And more importantly, do you slip them into your novels?

Namaste, Bug Watchers!

Motivation

All my life, people have mystified me. Now . . . desperate people often do desperate things. I get that. So actually, the dramas amongst people who seemingly have it all mystify me even more. Every time, for example, my Oldest Son comes in and leans around my desk chair to plant a kiss on my cheek, at almost-15 and growing taller by the day, I am mystified that there is an entire side to his family tree (paternal side) who have absolutely no interest in knowing him. None. Zero. Zilch. Birthdays go by. No word from them. He has accomplishments. He recently recorded with his school band at Disney . . . none of them know. He is called the "Baby Whisperer" at church for his ability to calm even the fussiest of infants in the nursery where he volunteers . . . none of them know that. None of them know him. Or his siblings for that matter. Mystifying.

And the funny thing is the people I meet who do mystifying things will do them for reasons that are petty, stupid, immature, childish . . . or worse, for NO reason they can articulate. Recently, someone I know has decided to walk away from some commitments. For the most immature reason I have ever heard of. I step back in awe a little bit. How does a grown woman do that?

I have seen men leave beautiful wives and children for a lay. Really. I have seen people end lengthy friendships over seemingly nothing. These are people who have roofs over their heads. Cars to drive. Food on the table. They have children and family and churches and friends. Their whims, their dramas are self-created most of the time.

People are mystifying.

But CHARACTERS can't be. They can be a bit enigmatic, surely. But most of the time, readers have to feel like they really KNOW them and understand their choices. Well, of COURSE John Graf is going to solve the mystery of the stones in Stephen Parrish's book. Even if it starts getting risky! Of COURSE Derek Stillwater will save the world. I mean, really? It's like it's his destiny. He has no choice, don't you think? Of course my young hero will do something REALLY crazy in the climax of my new book because he feels ties to his clan now. You get the idea.

With my critique partners, I feel like, especially lately, we do a lot of motivation questioning. We don't necessarily word it that way. Thinking of last night, I asked him, "At this point in the story does your hero believe what he's been told so far?" If he DOES believe it, then the motivation for x and y is completely believable. We then buy into the plot points, into the relationships . . . the motivation cements other elements.

Another thing . . . as mystifying as people are, sometimes they are amazingly simple creatures. I don't know that you can, in a novel, weave a motivation that is as complicated as a story unto itself.

Also muddying matters . . . sometimes people--and characters--may embark on things for motivations others "see" but they do not, at least not yet.

A little story. When my father was a boy, he was placed for a brief time in a hospital for indigent families. Rats ran rampant, biting the children at night, and nurses wielded bats to deal with the rat population. It was positively Dickens-like. My father spoke Russian at home. Most of the children spoke other languages. So not only were they alone and terrified, they didn't understand the nurses speaking to them. He told me this story later in life. My MOTHER told me years before and it stayed with me. I teach ESL as a volunteer, usually to the very poor. I have for a long, long time. I think of how isolating it must be to be alone and frightened in a country, unable to read the signs or communicate. Can you see a straight line between A and B? Yeah, I can too. Only I realized that straight line all of a week ago.

Motivation. It's a tricky thing.

Thoughts? What motivates your characters and WHY?

P.S. My April story is up over at Lurker Monkey's Storytellers. If you read the companion piece . . . it's all about motivation.

Called

No, not "the" call. But a personal call. A soul call.

When I lived in Florida, I worked as a mentor with unwed teen mothers, some as young as 12. And once, when I was hugely preggers, I ended up going to dinner in some notorious public housing. Thugs lingered in the parking lot as I parked my car and waddled (and I do mean waddled) to the front door of the apartment I was visiting. And I wondered, as I sometimes did, why the hell I was risking so much for unpaid work with society's throwaways. And the answer, of course, was that it wasn't a job, but a calling. I've done similar work since I was 17 . . . and work like that either calls you or it doesn't, but there is never any public award for it, no money, no title, no prestige. You come home some nights and cry--alone--since no one particulary wants to hear that you are crying for something you do as a volunteer. Why not just quit?

I'm turning in a book to my editor tomorrow. And one of the major changes I've been working on these last months is a big fat WHY. When my characters have a challenge (they are on the hunt for the origins of an ancient manuscript and are threatened), why not quit? They won't gain money. Or even fame, since the world of antiquarians is very insular. So I had to build in a personal calling on nearly every page. A believable motivation. Both of them, now, feel a strange emotional connection to the unseen author of the ancient manuscript. The writings speak to them in the way that some people will pick of "Leaves of Grass" or Maya Angelou and find the poetry strikes some resonant chord. They long to help this unseen author of centuries before tell his story to a wider audience. They feel as if they know him. As if they have to help him. They have a calling.

I think most of us like reading about characters to have a calling. Even great legal thrillers are never about winning the big payout for personal enrichment. The lawyer may start out as mercenary . . . but sooner or later, it becomes a calling. A quest.

So does your character have a calling? What is it? What does he or she risk? And what about you?

[Added . . . I'm up at Lurker Monkey's Storytellers Flash Fiction today . . . .]

Margins

It used to be that I got back my manuscripts covered in Post-it notes. My editor would scrawl in the margin or slap a Post-it. Not a lot of notes, generally. Maybe every two or three pages. Sometimes they are asides, "HA! loved this" or "I cried here." I like getting an inside view of a reader's head AS they are going through the manuscript. For years, that's what I did as I edited other people's books. I wasted a lot of trees. The whole publishing business did.

Along came Track Changes. Some editors use it. Some don't (largely depends, in my experience, on whether they have long commutes when they work on the train and hence paper is a better fit). Same thing . . . comments in the margin. Sometimes I use them now when I edit . . . sometimes not (with my writers' group it's 50-50 since we talk through stuff during the meeting).

Here's what I notice lately.

If there are a lot of questions about motivation . . . a scene is sunk.

Now, I have been giving this a LOT of thought. In fact, I thought about it during Law & Order last night. You see, in each show, they are trying to solve a case. And when the detectives leave a scene, after, say, questioning the matriarch of a powerful family, there will be something not quite right. Detective A will say to Detective B, "Did you notice how she never even ASKED how her grandson was doing?" Detective B will say, "Cold-hearted." And we, the viewer, know what our takeaway lesson is supposed to be, though really, we figured it out, it's for those who missed it and apparently need a cheat sheet.

But . . . and here's my takeaway, the scene CAN ALWAYS work on its own. What do I mean? There is not much about the scene that's hugely off. The dialogue COULD work on its own. The scene isn't one between two detectives and someone whose dialogue is literally off the wall and with huge noticeable gaps. The scene works. What is UNSAID is subtle and the astute viewer will pick it up (and if not, Detectives Goren and Eames will fill you in because hey, they only have an hour to solve this thing).

Move this to writing. It's okay to plant red herrings. It's okay to leave clues in the unsaid. But each scene still has to work. Readers cannot finish a scene, scratch their heads, and go "huh?" When I edit something now, and have seven or eight "huhs?" in the Track Changes, I know a writer's scene is in trouble. If the writer responds to me and says, "Well, you are going to find out what this means on page 180," I have news for them. The scene did not deliver. The scene and dialogue HAVE to work without enormous problems where it is. And those who master this--in thrillers and in mysteries, and in fiction of every type--are writers to learn from.

Keep your margins clean. :-)

Thoughts?

Motivation

When I first started writing, character motivation was not something I thought very much about. In general, motivation was something that kickstarted the book for me. In Spanish Disco, my very first novel, editor Cassie Hayes heads to a small island off the coast of Florida to coax a sequel out of a reclusive novelist because her boss and best friend has laid out a huge advance for the book--and it will bankrupt their small publishing house if the book isn't turned in on time. Once she's working with the novelist, things unfold, and frankly her motivation doesn't evolve beyond the stakes on page 12 or so.

But as I wrote other books, it seemed like motivation kept pushing to the forefront a bit--though I have to say on my part, it was on a subconcious basis. However, LurkerMonkey, a while back, read through my editor's rewrite letter for a book and we discussed motivation. Namely, Lurker posited that most people will quit on something when the personal price for doing good becomes too much.

In general, I think he's totally right. On a very small scale, I worked as a mentor to unwed teen mothers in a fairly dangerous area. I remember being pregnant myself, having two of my kids in my car, and driving to one of the more notorious gang- and prostitute-infested public housing projects in Florida. As I climbed out of my car, I felt in danger. A pimp was idling a red Lincoln, shiny and brand-new; working girls were walking the sidewalk; drugs were being dealt in plain sight; most of the apartments had no window panes, and I was pretty positive if I called 911, it would be quite a while before the cops showed up. I had to tell my kids not to stand near open windows once we got in the apartment we were scheduled to visit.

The dinner we had with the teen I worked with was lovely. My kids had a great time. We ate spaghetti and had a salad and cake. My teen's apartment was neat as a pin. I left her a couple of hundred dollars on her kitchen counter in a gesture of helplessness. I wanted her out of that neighborhood so desperately, but that money wasn't going to buy her way out. I would have needed a lot more. And the mentoring program wasn't about giving money or material items . . . it was about offering friendship, guidance, and support. When we exited the apartment, she walked us to our van. I was relieved the tires were still on it and no on was sitting on the hood, and when I left, I can honestly say I gunned it once I made it to the exit from the projects.

I didn't quit mnetoring. In fact, I reminded myself I got to LEAVE at the end of that night. She did not. I was a mentor for a good three years.

But . . . what if at some point, I had been a victim of a crime? Would I have decided the price was too high? I honestly don't know. I would like to wax poetic about doing good, but in fact, I was a woman with a blind faith, perhaps, that doing something to better the world was a talisman for warding off evil. When I know DAMN well it isn't. My motivation? Love. I mean, when I first signed on, it was about helping babies. But after a time, I loved the kids I worked with. LOVED them like my own kids. So love was my motivation. But where would I have drawn the line in the sand? For my own flesh and blood . . . there probably is no line I wouldn't cross. But the reality is even as much as I loved these other kids, I just don't know.

On a bigger scale . . . Lurker's theory works because ultimately horrific events like the Holocaust or Stalin's regime happen because not enough people will put their lives on the line to defy it. Or their families' lives. Oh, there are tons of other reasons, too. But that's one of them.

But in fiction?

In fiction, I think the very definition of the hero is the one whose motivation BECOMES so pure (may not start out that way) that he or she doggedly continues, defying all odds, in the face of all obstacles incredibly huge. We all want to read about people like that. And a good writer can deftly create such a character so that it's believable. And in creating that character, it all boils down to the very thing I didn't used to think very much about: motivation.

Thoughts? Fictional versus real life motivations . . . What motivates your main character?

Return to Normal

Yesterday, I had a two-and-a-half-hour marathon coffee session with a friend who needed to talk through something. As usual, it was equal parts my talking through my chaotic life as well. At some point, my friend said he had been mistaken about something about me (a silly little thing), and as he recounted the story he said, "I knew I was probably wrong, because I said to myself, 'Well, that would be really weird, even for Erica.'"

I took it as a compliment. At this point, it's futile battling being "decidedly odd."

But it got me thinking about themes. You see, tomorrow, Oldest Daughter comes home for five days for spring break. And she is bringing her violin, and I presume at some point I will hear her De Beriot concerto ringing through the house. And I know what will happen. The first time I hear her, my body will relax. I will exhale. I will think, "Ah . . . . now things are back to normal." If I think about it, I've lived with a violinist in my house for 15 years (she started playing around 3ish). That's just normal to me. Now that Baby Girl is playing piano . . . and the piano is in my office, it's normal to write with that going on. And normal means I have a Demon Baby who likes to pee in the bathtub like a frat boy. And an Oldest Son lighting things on fire in the kitchen (it was for a science fair experiment, but still, we were setting things ablaze around here). Normal, for me, is chaotic.

And as I think about so many books, including my two works-in-progress, I realize that the entire goal of all my characters, ever, has been a return to normal. That's all they want. They don't seek riches or fame. They want whatever pressing problem they have to be solved so they can get back to life as they know it. Or knew it.

Now, the thing about life--and the universe--is it's always changing.

So in reality, when characters return back to "normal," that normal will be changed. Life will never be exactly as it once was. Perhaps it will be marked by grief or sorrow. In the case of the Magickeepers, Kolya cannot go back to his old life ever (too dangerous), and the veil has been lifted anyway--he sees the magic around him now. But there will be a new normal with his magic clan. And then guess what? In the next book he'll work to defend that as his new normal.

Even in a typical thriller series, I thought about. So the cop or detective or whomever goes back to "normal" at the end, but stored in his or her head are the images, the trauma of the case. The world is a bit darker. Then it stretches and that becomes the new normal. Until the next case.

So what's normal for you? And . . . is that the motivation of your characters?

Inside My Brain

Okay kids, any fans of The Angry Samoans? Check out their discography. They started in the punk wave, and heck, they're still mad

as hell.

But I digress . . . One of their albums was "Inside My Brain." And yesterday, of all things, I realized how much time writers spend inside OTHER people's brains.

My group liked my short story. But, being the tough group that they are, at the end of our meeting, I was asked, "So what are you bringing next time?" Read the subtext: Get our of your f*cking writing funk and get back to your novels, you hapless b*tch. All right, maybe I am being a little bit interpretive of what my best friend, Pammie, REALLY thinks of me. But I got the message.

So I have 160+ pages of an incredible book I can turn into a thriller that deals with a forgotten piece of history, an actual event of demonic possession of an historical figure. And the reason I abandoned the book was I reached an impasse around page 160 where I had to actually figure out the motivations of a demon. Now, I may have a Demon Baby (whose birthday is today), but I personally do not like to spend much time thinking about the possibility of Satan. And I most especially don't like spending much time inside the head of a demon.

But that's precisely what writers do. I literally spent a half-hour last night pondering, "What do the demons really want? What are their motivations?"

Option #2 of a book to work on is even further along, around page 200. The mother in the book commits infanticide. In pondering the rewrite, I've decided she actually did so twice, not once. So now . . . I must spend time thinking, "What must she have thought the precise moment she murdered her own child? Did the infant struggle? How could she do it?"

Is it any wonder that writers sometimes end up in funks? In places they don't really like being?

Two nights ago, I had massive insomnia. I knew why. Just before bed, I had been flipping channels. Click. Click. Click. I decided to read instead (re-reading American Prometheus). But some compulsion always compels me to click up to channel 401 (where it converts to music channels), as if magically some wonderful foreign flick will be on and I can curl up all by my lonesome and watch a Danish film with English subtitles. Wouldn't you know at channel 399, I click and what do I land on? Hostel II. Torture porn. I paused. Not because I would ever watch something like that, but because I was stunned. What compels a person to want to make a film like that . . . and people to watch it. As luck would have it, the scene was horrendous, and so I clicked to 400, and then to music. And then I turned on the light to read. But I couldn't SHAKE the image in my head. Hence . . . insomnia.

That's kind of like being a writer. Sometimes you go inside other brains for a while. And then they are tough to shake. Even if you LIKE your character, you are in a constant state of analysis. What would Kate do when she found out her mother did this? What would Alexandra do when confronted by the alcoholic priest? Know the slogan What Would Jesus Do? (WWJD). What would my character do is a constant state of mind for writers. It makes it hard, for me, to always be present, as in . . . in the moment.

So how many of you brain hop? And do you like the Angry Samoans?

Do I Know You?

With me, pretty much what you see (exhausted mom of four, writer, odd around the edges) is what you get. I don't like small talk. I prefer to keep to myself, but I have very, very close friends that mean everything to me. Family is my number-one priority. Then my prayer life. Then my volunteering life. Then writing. Sometimes the order of the last two shuffles, but not much.

I wear my (typically bleeding) heart on my sleeve. If I want to cry, I don't care who sees me. If I am in a silly mood, I don't care if I am out in public. I am always the first person out on the dance floor at a wedding.

Baby Girl and I went out for dinner. She had given me the most glorious Mother's Day card (hand-painted by her) with an essay inside on why her mom is so special. Suffice it to say, virtually every sentence had some form of the following: "My mom is very different from most moms, and that's part of why I love her so much." "My mom is kind of crazy a lot of the time, but if you know her, that's why you'd love her." So at dinner, I asked her, "Why did your whole essay resound with 'my mom is weird.'" To which she replied, "Have you met yourself?" I asked if she wanted a normal mom. To which she replied, "No, I'll keep you." Which was gratifying, since she is rather stuck with me.


But in the end, Baby Girl's essay aside, I feel I am unknowable. There is so much pain and joy and heartache, and thoughts and prayer way, way beneath the surface. I don't feel that anyone knows me fully. And I feel that way about most people. We spend our lives trying to connect with people, but in the end, do we REALLY know them?


Which brings me to my work-in-progress. I have a couple of characters that I "get." I see them, feel them. In my mind, I see him brush a stray piece of hair from her face. I see her pausing to watch him before he knows she's there. I feel their breaths. But there--off-stage for now--is her domineering, mean father. Him, I don't know. It's not that I can't write him. I think I can. But I don't know what motivates him. I don't KNOW him. I can't wrap my mind around him. And while I don't have Writer's Block* (see end of post), THIS is a block that is holding up my work. I don't get him.

At one point, a certain member of my writers' group and I would have rather large disagreements about one of his characters. I think he felt he knew this character . . . and I didn't. Because it's not my work--I know to a very large extent he was right. On the flipside, we're trying to make our characters knowable--not just to us, but to our readers.

I also realize that the MAIN reason I don't know this character in my work-in-progress is I have no idea what motivates him. What makes him get out bed in the morning. What jerks his proverbial chain. For me, I get out of bed for the coffee brewing, for the chance to see Demon Baby with the peace of sleep on his face. I get up for my kids because I know if I am not "motivating" them out the door, their days will be a mess and spill back onto my day. I get up because loads of laundry are waiting to get done. I get up to blog and "see" all of you. I get up to pray.


So . . . are we knowable? Is what we know the EVIDENCE of our existence? Am I knowable only by what I do? Where I choose to spend my time? Are your characters knowable? And what obligation do you have to your readers to make them knowable?


Discuss. :-)


*My Writer's Block asterisk? I read the NY papers in the morning. James Frey made Page Six of the New York Post with this comment: JAMES Frey made his triumphant return to the literary limelight Tuesday night at the Blender Theater, where he walked through his adoring fans flanked by two huge body-builders and took the stage to read from his first novel, "Bright Shiny Morning." As jazz pianist Eric Lewis played, Frey read a passage about LA's gun culture under a slide show of Terry Richardson photographs of tattooed, heavily armed gang members. Asked if he'd suffered any droughts of inspiration during his 10 months of typing, Frey replied, "Writer's block is for chumps. To me this is a job, like being a banker, or a teacher. You never hear of banker's block."

To which I wanted to hurl my computer. I think the man is a jackass.

Line in the Sand

I had an interesting conference call with my writers' group last night, in between hacking up a lung (I have a nasty cold). About the line in the sand. The line between a character who is curious, and one who is Too Stupid To Live (TSTL). The line between sympathetic . . . and doormat. Between feisty and obnoxious. Writers all walk the line.

An example? I don't know if there are any devoted Law & Order fans who read this blog. But I watch them all in re-runs, sometimes when I am knitting, or too mentally exhausted to read. And my best friend watches them, too. And neither of us can abide the new redheaded partner of Chris Noth. In fact, I hate this character so much, that not only do I not know her name, but if I even SEE her obnoxious little freckled-face on my screen, I take it as a sign I really should be reading the physics book on my bedside table and not wasting time watching TV. I turn it off. The producers have seriously miscalculated, I think, and my friend and I both love the show.

In my current work in progress, I have a very inner character. She has been wounded by tragedy, by her childhood. And I know I walk the line between realisitcally representing someone hurt by life . . . and her being a doormat.

I have, in that same work in progress, a mean character, someone who does something so awful. And I walk the line between her just being horrid . . . and her being a cariacature. I was very relieved last night when one of my group members said, "I hate her, but I think I'm in her head enough to understand what her motivation is. Why she does this." And maybe, I decided, that's what we need to express as writers. The motivation.

In my second Billie Quinn book, Billie goes into a house where her father may or may not be trapped with a serial killer. Billie is not stupid. She HAD a cop with her, and they COULD have waited for backup, but I thought it was a completely realistic motivation for her to race in to save someone she loved. Versus, say, a slasher flick, where a TSTL character, usually in a low-cut shirt and no bra, or better yet, a nightie, will go exploring the house with the serial killer in it, USUALLY without turning on the lights.

As an editor, I expend a great deal of red ink writing "WHY?!?!?!?!" in the margins of manuscripts. Readers will forgive a lot for a motivation we understand. PLOT should not drive your characters' decisions, MOTIVATION should. Then we are willing to walk that line in the sand with you. There is a big difference between the two.

Going back to the redhead? Part of what I can't abide are characters who are uniformly nasty to everyone, who walk around with a chip on the shoulder. I won't abide it for 60 minutes of a TV show, for two hours of a movie, for 300 pages of a book. I might forgive it if I understand why. But just plunk her into a favorite show and have her behave that way? Nope.

So tell me . . . do you find yourself tweaking your characters to manipulate the motivation, to make their line in the sand clearer? Are there types of characters you can't abide? Thoughts on motivation versus plot? Do you walk a line in the sand?

Motivation

What gets you up at an ungodly hour, makes you sit in a chair, and pursue a career as a writer? Or, makes you put a pot of coffee on and type away long after your family has gone to bed? What makes you carry around a notebook and scribble furiously when you get an idea?

Motivation. Your reason for being a writer. For me, it's a desire to have this gig, where I sit in my pjs and make stuff up out of my imagination. It feeds my soul. And I get to be home full-time with the kidlets.

But motivation is also, I think, the key--THE key--to characters. Motivate your character with real reasons--a motivation your readers can believe is true--and your readers can suspend disbelief.

Why would my heroine go into a house where she is CERTAIN a serial killer awaits her? My instinct--your instinct--would be to run the other way. Call the cops. But my heroine knows her father is inside, defenseless and unknowing, and so she rushes in with her detective/friend, regardless of what lays in wait.

That motivation, to me, is real. I would die for any of my children. No questions asked. I hope to never be put in that position, but the fierce attachment is there.

We are motivated to write. Why? Your characters are motivated to take risks. Why? Know thyself. Know thy characters . . . and it's all believable.

Thoughts?