Silver sandals, ruby red pendant dangling from a fine black chain shaped of clasped hands; in a dress of midnight blue, swishing ankle long, she was ready for battle.
miserable punctuation
More Holly Lisle. Hey. She has some good things to say, and her novels aren’t all that bad. I got a kick out of this because I have been playing around with the muse thing, trying to figure out which one would be most likely to tolerate me and vice/versa. A-Muse-ments.
Holly Lisle on plotting with the Muse:
The Good Question…
Approaches the thing you really want to know sideways, never directly. It avoids accusation and the making of assumptions.
Never put your Muse on the defensive. You want your Muse to think it’s your buddy, not the enemy. (Don’t make the mistake of actually believing it’s your buddy, though, or it will stab you in the back and take off for Bermuda with your hero or heroine and the rest of your book.)
For current purposes, you might as well consider your Muse a hostile witness or a possible criminal being accused. You want to know the whole story here, and the Muse has it, or at least big parts of it, and it knows where it can get the rest. So you don’t ask, “What can you tell me about what Bob was doing in the Smith Building last Friday at 3:27 AM?” The answer to that one is “Nothing.” Trust me. The answer to that sort of question is always “Nothing.”
What you want to ask is something like, “Bob seems a little odd to me. Has he ever seemed a little odd to you?”
Everybody seems a little odd if you think about it, and by asking the question that way, you’re building a bit of rapport with your Muse, getting it to let its defenses down, encouraging it to say things that it knows won’t really hurt anything. Like, “Well, he does collect rubber bands. Makes great big balls with them. And he likes to put on makeup, but only in his bedroom. He isn’t one of those guys who goes public with it. And I know he likes to trap things. You know, rabbits and foxes and stuff.”
And now you know that Bob would have a reason to be interested in the contents of a woman’s purse other than for the money, that he has intentionally killed things—this may or may not be harmless, depending on what he does with them—and that he has an odd interest in rubber bands, which may or may not become a creepy plot point somewhere along the road. Ask yourself, what does he do with big rubber band balls?
After you figure out your question and ask it, don’t say anything else.Staying silent creates tension, and both people and Muses will blurt out some amazing things if you just ask your question and then wait, sitting still and not filling that silence with anything.
From HollyLisle.com, wherein there is a heck of a lot of accumulated wisdom, tips and other useful goodies about writing, comes this exercise in character creation. Truth is, if you begin with this, in absence of story, it is an exercise in story creation.
Choose a gender
Female
Choose a place of birth
A shack behind the priestess’ house
Choose a hobby
Making little animal shapes from sticks or stones or bits of clay
Choose a past job
Drudge for the priestess
Choose a present job
Priestess
Choose a love interest
Claren the bard who taught her her letters–and more
Choose an enemy
The Priestess–Dama Kara. She was the one who lived in the house behind which our heroine was born, and for whom she slaved while she was a child. Dama Kara hated the child because she hated the mother for succeeding where she had failed, in winning the heart–and obviously, more, of the man she desired.
Choose a pet
She is not allowed pets, but she has been secretly feeding scraps to a feral cat who has a litter of kittens hidden somewhere on the property.
Why is your character not working at an old job?
She scratched out enough of an education to make herself an attractive prospect when the opportunity was there. The Abbess found her quick, clean and reverent. In fact, a contrast to Dama Kara, her ostensible sponsor.
Why is your character not with an old love interest?
Her first love was another girl. She married and has children now. They are still friends, which amazes my character, but fills her with gratitude.
Why does your character not make the hobby a profession?
The things are small and crude and there would not be that much money in them, anyway. However, even if there were, she would probably not move in that direction unless that were her only choice, because it would take the pleasure out of making and giving the little animals, if she were required to do it for a living.
How did your character make the enemy?
Dama Kara was disposed to hate her because of her birth, but that might have changed. If my girl had come to admire DK and despise her (good, sweet, kind, etc) mother. If the girl had been a less intelligent and/or a homely soul, giving DK a valid excuse to look down on her. It would have been nice if the mother had died in childbirth or soon after and she could have raised our girl in her image–she may have even imagined that. None of that, however, was to be. Instead, she entirely overshadowed the woman in every way, including piety.
How did the pet once save the character’s life?
Perhaps not so dramatic as all that. She was out walking, and not paying as much attention as she should to where she was going, so that she wandered off the trail. She was crossing a deserted farmstead, all overgrown in brambles and sedges, and picking her way along the way of least resistance, aimlessly. When the cat appeared from nowhere she changed her direction and began to follow it because it seemed to be heading at least somewhere. Looking back, she saw that if she had continued she would have stepped onto an almost hidden well-cover. Probably rotten. That was the beginning of her sneaking food to the cat.
What is the one thing your character would do anything in the world to have? Why? What has he already done to obtain it? What does he hope to try in the future?
What would she do anything in the world for? She is a very moral person. Her mother has taught her well, despite the very bad model of Dona Kara. Still, she believes, not all things are absolute. There is a relic of known healing powers in the possession of someone who considers it simply an adornment. While she would like to consider herself someone who would retrieve this item simply in order to do good for the general public, she is aware that that’s not entirely the case–her love, the bard, is ailing in his joints, and prone to fevers. She has tried appealing to the woman’s better nature in the past, explaining the truth of the thing [pendant--thin gold casket with a large red stone] She has every intention of stealing it. If she is successful, she may have to give up her religious profession.
What is your character’s name? What is your character’s age and physical description?
Before she became a priestess, her name was simply Emma. She was renamed by the Abbess upon her rebirth as a priestess, and she is now Dama Lea. Still young to have been accepted, she is less than 25. Her birth was during the spring of the year. She is taller than most other women around her, and many of the men. Her shoulders are broad and she carries herself errectly, she is graceful. Her hair is a rather nondescript brown. Because of the order, it is cut short in the back, and in bangs to her eyebrows. Her eyes are brown. She has good skin and a blush on her cheeks. She still works hard physically, and is strong.
Write everything you know about your character you know right now.
Dama Lea praises the Goddess with everything she does. She believes that everyone else ought to do the same, but in their own ways. She sees no reason the drunkard should not praise the Goddess in drink, just so long as he not cause harm to any other in so doing.
She makes friends easily. Children, especially, like her. The toys she makes have been the gate to many a new set of exchanges. They also know that she does not tell secrets. She may go out of her way to find help for a problem without allowing the truth to be known.
So, what’s wrong with her?
I’m sure more will come to mind later, but for now:
Dama Kara is not far off the mark in accusing her of pride. She struggles with herself, but not very much, for her pride in her intellect, and her beauty.
While her speaking voice is not unpleasant–in the mid range, and reasonably modulated–she cannot sing, and cannot be stopped. Also she whistles when she thinks no one is around. Songs that are not only un-canonical, they are un-ladylike.
And, of course, despite the strictures, she has not been chaste.
The dog was out in the back yard yelping. There were no apparent causes. The trees were blowing in the starting wind, the leaves beginning to fall. Everything seemed to be only beginning to happen. There was an air of waiting. The dog. The dog ran back and forth along the chain fence, covered with honeysuckle and intertwined with the odd young tree.
Dog. I said to him, as I walked past down the alley. I try to be polite to strange animals. One never knows. they have been known to fine doorways in their yards. A little politeness never hurts.
Girl. The dog said–you better get home there is a terrible thing about to happen. You need to be in your home. I am trying to tell the everyone about it, but it is not easy to do.
This, as you may imagine, startled me. I cannot remember having ever understood an animal before. There have been times when they have seemed to convey information. Mostly along the order of –I am hungry, you idiot, feed me; or, why the hell did you make me move.—-
Dog. –yes, yes, yes, what is it?–he panted. He was a white and brown sort of hunter. A very nice-looking fellow.
–How is it I can understand you?–
–It is because the world may be coming to an end. The people must be made to understand. You see that tall old oak tree over there? Well, it has moved two inches in the last hour. I understand these things. I have been given the gift of prophecy. The world may be coming to an end.
–What can people do?
–I don’t know what you can do for yourself. Run home and hide under the bed. That is what I want to do. but My people will not come outside and let me come in. That is why I keep calling I must go inside and hide under the bed. Help! Help! —the dog said–Help!
Straw help I have been grasping at. One suggestion Write 5 titles and meditate on them. Then decide why you dislike the one you like least. Thinking back, this probably presupposes that there is already a work to go with the titles. That would explain my facility in discovering strings of words. Come to think of it, in that case, I should have done much, much better. Still, what came out wasn’t all that bad, and something could be written from almost any one of them. hmmm. seem to have d/c d the doc.
see if I can remember any of them
The worst was
Thought-Spoke to Me the Cat Did– That’s my Andre Norton-esp one
Crystal Bells and Cockle Shells— Definitely feminine, romantic, maybe magic
And Amy Came Marching Home— I actually like that, open, modern
oh, yes, this one really stinks:
Camera Obscura Stole My Soul —- Sounds more like a mag title
and this one actually has possibilities:
No Shame For The Wicked
