Tag Archives: blogging

Blogging, David B. Coe, Not at all Writing Related

Photo Friday: I Was Reluctant To Share This Image This Year

I have posted a photo like this one in past years on or just after the first night of Hanukkah (which was last night). Nancy and I come from different backgrounds. I was a suburban kid from a comfortable family; she was a farm girl raised in a family that lived paycheck to paycheck. I went to an Ivy League school; she went to a state school (we met in graduate school at Stanford). And I was raised as a secular Jew; she was raised by devoutly Catholic parents.

Despite the fact that my family did in fact celebrate Christmas, this image — the menorah and the Christmas tree — has long struck me as a symbol of all that we brought to our marriage and blended in our life together.

This year, though, with all that has gone on in the world, with all the hostility we have seen directed at those who are other, who are not White and Christian and straight, I hesitated to acknowledge publicly my Judaism, mild though it is. I live in a very, very red area, and I felt unsafe drawing attention to my heritage.

In the end, I decided that I wouldn’t give in to my paranoia, or my mistrust of others. I also recognized the obvious: if someone wants to know my religious background, they won’t have to dig too deep. As I say, I’ve posted similar images before.

And so, I will say again, as I have in past years, from our multi-denominational home to yours, our sincere wishes for a safe, joyous holiday season, filled with love and laughter.

Have a great weekend.

Menorah and Christmas Tree, by David B. Coe

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Islevale Cycle, Time's Assassin, Time's Children, Time's Demon, Winds of the Forelands, Writing

Writing-Tip Wednesday: Holidays As Part of World Building

I have written about the holidays a good deal in the past few weeks, but I have yet to address holidays as a topic in a Writing-Tip Wednesday post.

Now, you’re first response to this might be, “Well, why would you?”

And my answer? “World building.”

Think about the holidays that mark our calendars. Christmas, Easter, Ramadan, Passover, Yom Kippur — these are events that reveal much about our faiths, about the histories and traditions of the religions that guide the lives of so many. Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, Labor Day, Memorial Day, the Fourth of July, Martin Luther King Jr. Day, Presidents’ Day — these holidays carry meaning for our secular history, showing who and what we as a culture and society value year after year. Even Halloween and Groundhog Day, which are not holidays in any real sense of the word, offer glimpses into a pagan past that a small but significant part of our population still honors with celebrations marking Beltane, Samhain, Candlemas, the Solstices and Equinoxes.

Every culture and country has its special days, and every one of those special days comes with a story. Which is why the worlds we create for our novels and short fiction also need to have annual observances. Celebrations of this sort are something people do. They are one way of perpetuating the social norms and cultural touchstones that create communal identity. Holidays at their core, are all about story, about history and faith and tradition. And, as it happens, world building is about precisely the same things.

Seeds of Betrayal, by David B. Coe Weavers of War, by David B. CoeFor the Winds of the Forelands series (Rules of Ascension, Seeds of Betrayal, Bonds of Vengeance, Shapers of Darkness, Weavers of War) , I created what is without a doubt the most complex “calendar” I’ve ever undertaken for any project. For those of you not familiar with the world, I’ll give a very brief description. The world has two moons, Ilias and Panya, the Lovers, who chase each other across the sky. Each turn (month) has one night when both moons are full (the Night of Two Moons) and one night when both moons are dark (Pitch Night). Each turn is also named for a god or goddess, and so each Night of Two Moons and each Pitch Night has a special meaning.

For example, Adriel’s Turn (roughly equivalent to our May), is named for the goddess of fertility. According to lore, a love consummated on the Night of Two Moons in her turn will last forever. A love consummated on Pitch Night will end in betrayal. Kebb’s Turn (roughly October) is named for the god of the hunt. People believe a successful hunt on the Night of Two Moons presages good hunting throughout the cold turns. Meat from a beast killed on Pitch Night is considered cursed and cannot be eaten. Each turn has similar legends, or in some cases actual phenomena: Pitch Night in Morna’s Turn (named for the goddess of thunder) is always a night of violent storms. The first killing frost in the Forelands almost always arrives on Pitch Night in Sivan’s Turn. Several Nights of Two Moons and several Pitch Nights are observed with prayer and/or gift giving.

These beliefs and traditions make for a much richer, more believable world. If my characters were to traipse through their year without any sort of holidays or occasions, readers might still be drawn in by the rest of my storytelling, but the world would feel flat, and far less interesting.

TIME'S DEMON, by D.B. Jackson (Art by Jan Weßbecher)I did something similar for the Islevale Cycle novels (Time’s Children, Time’s Demon, Time’s Assassin). In this world there are two primary deities, Kheraya (female) and Sipar (male), and the calendar is structured around them. It begins with the spring equinox — Kheraya’s Emergence, a day and night of enhanced magickal power and sensuality. The spring months are known as Kheraya’s Stirring, Kheraya’s Waking, Kheraya’s Ascent. The summer solstice is called Kheraya Ascendent, a day of feasts, celebration, and gift-giving. This is followed by the hot months of summer: Kheraya’s Descent, Fading, and Settling.

Sipar’s Emergence coincides with the autumn equinox, the pivot of the year, another day and night of sensuality and enhanced power. And then the pattern of the first half of the year repeats itself — Sipar’s Stirring, Sipar’s Waking, Sipar’s Ascent. These cooler months culminate in the solstice, called Sipar Ascendent, a day of fasting and contemplation. Finally, the year ends with the winter months: his Descent, Fading, and Settling.

In part, of course, I need a calendar for my worlds in order to organize my story. The Forelands books were sprawling and complex, with multiple narrative threads and point of view characters. I had to have a detailed calendar that allowed me to track all the stories and people. And with the Islevale books, which added time travel to the mix, I REALLY needed to know where and when I was in every chapter and on every page.

But my creative work on these calendars went far beyond what I would have required had I simply been interested in a utilitarian time structure. I wanted something that would enhance my storytelling, that would give my readers insights into these worlds and the people who inhabit them. Yes, they’re complex. That’s the fun part! That’s what made this element of my world building so exciting for me.

So as you think about the worlds you’re building, consider not only geography and climate, history and religion, weaponry and food. Think about holidays as well. Create a calendar that is completely endemic to your world. And then show your readers glimpses of it. You don’t have to let them see every detail. Likely that would be too much. It would drown out your story. Give your readers just enough to hint at all the great work you’ve done in the background. And take pride in knowing that you have taken one more step toward crafting a fully realized, intricate, living, breathing world.

Keep writing!

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Not at all Writing Related

Monday Musings: He Lost. Get Over It Already. Rome Is Burning.

“You fool! As if the way one falls down matters!”

“Well, when the fall is all that’s left, it matters a great deal.”

— The Lion In Winter

He lost.

He knows it. His lawyers know it. His enablers in the Administration, the House, and the Senate know it. All in the media know it. The vast majority of Americans know it.

But he can’t admit it. He can’t admit it because he was brought up by a father who was every bit the asshole he is, and who drummed into him again and again that losing was for others but not him. He can’t admit it because he has built a worldwide brand around the idea that he’s “a winner.” And he can’t admit it because the future that awaits him once his one-term Presidency is over promises to be a grim slog through criminal trials, civil liability cases, and debt collection proceedings initiated by his many disgruntled creditors.

He is conning his supporters out of literally hundreds of millions of dollars, soliciting donations for a “legal fund” that actually shunts all contributions under $8,000.00 into the Republican National Committee and to a political action committee that has nothing to do with ongoing litigation. His legions don’t appear to know, or care.

His claims of fraud, parroted by his lawyers, have no basis in fact. We know this because while those representing him in court have made wild claims at press conferences and staged “hearings” in various battleground states, they have not repeated any of these claims in court. Lawyers are free to lie at will at public events, but lying in court, before a judge, can result in professional sanction or worse. If they believed the crap they’ve been saying at their public events, if they actually had evidence to support their crazy conspiracy theories, they would present it in a legal setting. That they haven’t tells us all we need to know about the veracity of their accusations.

The tragic irony in all of this is that while they are perpetrating their own fraud, the real crisis of our time, one they have dismissed all along as a hoax, is devastating our nation. COVID-19 is deep into its third wave here in the U.S. This resurgence is worse than any we have seen thus far. Americans are falling ill at a rate of more than 200,000 people per day. More than 2,700 people are dying daily — a rate of one death every thirty seconds. Within the next two weeks, the death toll from the pandemic will reach 300,000. By the time you read this, more than 15 million Americans will have contracted the virus.

And President Nero fiddles. He complains about his electoral loss, whines about how unfairly he has been treated, seeks to undermine the very foundations of our republic by refusing to acknowledge his loss, something no other Presidential candidate has done in the last one hundred and fifty years. He cares only about himself, his bruised ego, his impending legal and financial difficulties. He lacks the capacity to focus on the suffering of those he is supposed to serve. He has no empathy, no true compassion. He is utterly self-absorbed.

Meanwhile, people are dying. They’re losing their jobs, their health insurance, their homes. We as a nation are headed into a winter that health officials warn could be the hardest we have seen in more than a century. We are, until January 20, 2021, a nation without a leader, rudderless and adrift. All because the bloviating man-child in the Oval Office can’t deal with reality.

The only thing worse would have been if he had won.

Have a good week.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Not at all Writing Related

Photo Friday: It’s the Most Wonderful Time Of the Year!

As I mentioned in a recent post about Thanksgiving (which covered the December holidays as well) I come from a Jewish family and still consider myself Jewish, though we are not at all a religious family. Nancy was brought up Catholic, but left the Church long ago. We are decidedly agnostic, but also consider ourselves multi-denominational.

And so yesterday, with a recent snowfall melting away and more bad weather bearing down on us, my younger daughter and I went to the valley to buy our Christmas tree, and then I put up the holiday lights on the house.

When I was growing up, my family always celebrated Christmas, even as we also observed Passover (and Easter) in the spring. These were compromises made by a lot of non-religious Jewish families in the mid-twentieth century. Living in a world still recovering from World War II and plagued by continued anti-Semitism, many of these families, ours included, chose to assimilate rather than broadcast their Jewishness. It was often a safer choice, and certainly a more comfortable one.

As a kid, I didn’t care about the reasons, I just knew that I loved Christmas. Yes, the presents were part of the allure — greed was absolutely a factor. But I also loved the lights, the tree, the decorations. I was a sucker for all that stuff, and, truth be told, I still am.

Our house is now decked out in holiday lights, and I couldn’t be more excited. It’s actually a little ridiculous how happy these lights make me.

I wish all of you a wonderful weekend and a joyous start to the holiday season, no matter what holidays you happen to celebrate. Stay safe, and be kind to one another.

Christmas Lights on the House, by David B. Coe

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Writing

Monday Musings: Our New Game Nights

About a month ago, Nancy and I decided that we had been watching too much television during our evenings together, and that we needed something else to pass the time in this age of Covid and a world gone mad.

If you’re my friend on Facebook, you might have seen my post asking for advice on fun games we might play. We had a lot of recommendations, all of them helpful, some of them quite amusing. We had in mind something cooperative and immersive, and after a bunch of searching, and reading reviews and descriptions on line, we settled on Gloomhaven: Jaws of the Lion. This is part of the Gloomhaven family of games from Cephalofair Games, but it is both easier to learn and far less expensive than the full Gloomhaven.

Gloomhaven JOTL BoardWe received the game about three weeks ago, and have been playing more and more in the days since. Even with the parameters streamlined and simplified from Gloomhaven, Jaws of the Lion is very complicated. Our first night with the game all we did was read instructions, sort the pieces and cards, and get acquainted with the broad outlines of play and process. The game is played out over a couple of dozen scenarios, one more complex and difficult than the last. We battle monsters, seek treasure, solve problems, and explore this imaginative world, all the while working together rather than in competition.

Those who have played Dungeons and Dragons will find much in the game that feels familiar. It’s basically a board game built around the concept of D&D. I was never a gamer — I came to fantasy through fiction rather than gaming — and so this is all fairly new to me. The same is true for Nancy.

There are four characters in the game, each with unique talents and abilities, weaknesses and strengths. Obviously, since it’s just the two of us, we’re only using two of the four, and already we’re planning to finish this campaign and then start over using the other two characters. After that, we might start again, with her playing one of my characters and me playing one of hers. Each iteration of the game will be different, even if the initial set-ups for each scenario are the same.

Generally we play in the evenings, while sipping wine or whisky. Early on, we completed a scenario, or most of one, in a single night. We’re only on scenario six now, but already we know that we won’t be finishing our future scenarios so quickly. That’s fine. We spend a lot of time laughing, a LOT of time discussing strategy. Sometimes, in the middle of cooking dinner, one of us will suddenly have a thought about how we might handle an upcoming battle, or what new magical items we ought to get the next time our characters earn some gold. We’re having a lot of fun.

Gloomhaven may or may not be your thing. Frankly, it doesn’t matter. We could just as easily have chosen some other game, or decided to read a book to each other (something we’ve done before), or even found a new television series to binge. The important thing, of course, is the time together, the companionship. Nancy works hard, and despite the jokes I sometimes make about the leisurely life of the writer, I do, too. Our weeks are full, our weekday evenings a bit too rushed. So on weekends, we make time for each other: for walks, for watching a bit of Sunday morning soccer, for cooking fun meals and making the occasional interesting cocktail. And yes, for going to an imaginary world to fight monsters and find treasure.

Wishing you a wonderful week!

Blogging, David B. Coe, Not at all Writing Related

Photo Friday: The Bench

It first appeared sometime this past summer. It hadn’t been there, and then, suddenly, it was.

Initially, I have to admit, I resented it. I like our views of the little pond near our house. I like to get photos that have no manmade objects in them, and this bench sat right in the middle of the south shoreline of the pond.

But as the summer progressed and turned to fall, I warmed to the bench. For one thing, it’s simple, tasteful. It meshes nicely with the scenery. More important, it was placed in what is, unarguably, a lovely place to sit and ponder and enjoy the beauty of our neighborhood. As my emotions became ever more roiled during the course of the fall, I took to sitting on the bench more and more. It became a refuge of a sort.

I don’t know who put it there. I have an idea, but I’m not certain, and I haven’t had the opportunity it ask. It is there now. Really, nothing else matters.

Except this: Its placement, in a location that makes it available to all, was far from the intrusion I first thought it might be. It was, and continues to be, a gift, anonymous and generous. It was an act of kindness in the midst of a year during which we have needed such things desperately. So, to whoever put it there, thank you.

Wishing you all a wonderful weekend. Stay safe, be kind to one another.

The Bench, by David B. Coe

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Writing

Writing-Tip Wednesday: Whither This Blog? I Need Your Help

I’m taking a break from dispensing advice for this week — well, mostly: Don’t eat too much, take a walk after your Thanksgiving meal, and never, ever pick the Lions to win on Thanksgiving Day.

Instead, I am seeking advice from you. At the beginning of 2020, I decided that I was going to be more intentional about blogging. Monday Musings, Writing-Tip Wednesdays, and Photo Fridays were the result. I haven’t missed a post all year long, and, more to the point, I have enjoyed blogging. It has allowed me to chronicle this terrible, remarkable, consequential year. It has forced me to take photos more regularly. And it has allowed me to offer what I hope has been helpful writing advice.

The thing is, I’m not sure what to do about blogging in 2021. I intend to continue the Monday Musings feature. I’m sure there will be plenty to chronicle in the year to come, and while the balance of the posts will likely skew less to the political than it has this year, I have no doubt that I’ll have plenty of material. Likewise, the Friday feature will probably continue in some similar form. I got a great response to the musical post I did a few weeks ago, and so I might mix in more of that in the new year. And I might post a couple of short readings as well. So rather than limiting myself to Photo Fridays, I might expand it to Creative Fridays. But in a loose way, I’ll keep it going. At least that’s my thinking. I would welcome feedback on this.

Mostly, though, I need your help with Wednesdays. The truth is, I am just about out of topics for Writing-Tip Wednesdays. There are a few more things I can do that will get me through the rest of this year. But there is no way I can sustain the feature for all of 2021, much less in years beyond, at least not without repeating myself conspicuously. And so I would love to know what you would like to see in my Wednesday feature. I am happy to keep the focus on writing — the craft and the business. I’m just not certain how to do that.

One thing I have thought of is keeping a sort of professional journal — keeping track of the things I do to complete and market and promote my work. This would no doubt lead to lessons, advice, insights into the craft and business, etc. But I fear it would be terribly boring for you.

I could also use Wednesdays for professional musings — something like the Monday posts, but focused entirely on writing issues. I’m not entirely convinced that I can fill this space week after week with that, but it’s possible. I can certainly see where thoughts on writing might be helpful or illustrative, even if they’re not “how-to” in orientation. But again, I don’t know if this would be interesting for my readers.

I could also blend different ideas, add in a how-to post here and there if something comes to me that I haven’t yet covered, add in as well book recommendations or observations on storytelling I’m experiencing in movies, TV, books, articles, etc. In other words, have a sort of catch-all “Professional Wednesdays” that covers a host of stuff. The trouble I foresee with this is simply that I will, each week, be scrambling to think of SOMETHING I can do for my Wednesday posts. Not necessarily much fun for me. On the other hand, with a more open format for Wednesdays, maybe I’ll find that it’s easier to think of topics. I honestly don’t know.

It doesn’t help that none of us has any idea what 2021 is going to look like in terms of travel, conventions, the marketplace, etc. Another year of limitations and isolation like this one, and I could see all of these Wednesday ideas running out of steam pretty quickly.

So, what do you all think? Do you like any of the ideas I’ve offered here? Am I missing something obvious that you think would make for an interesting feature? If so, PLEASE tell me what it is.

I really do want to keep the Monday-Wednesday-Friday structure going. I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve seen a dramatic uptick in traffic on my sites. And I’ve enjoyed the responses my posts have evoked from all of you.

But I need your help to keep it going. So please comment on my Facebook page or my FB group, or on my Twitter feed. I’m looking forward to your advice and input. Thanks!

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe

Monday Musings: Random Thoughts About Thanksgiving

I love Thanksgiving. It is, and has long been, one of my two favorite holidays of the year, along with Passover, the Jewish holiday that marks the coming of spring. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that both occasions revolve around family-style meals that are steeped in tradition.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should probably admit that I didn’t always love Thanksgiving so much. When I was a kid, Turkey Day seemed nothing more than a gift-less dress rehearsal for Christmas. The food was similar, we saw the same relatives. The chocolate treats on the table were basically interchangeable, except for being shaped like turkeys rather than Santa. But, again — and I really can’t stress this enough — there were no presents! And also no tree.

Somehow it became a tradition in our family to pull the same prank on my poor, beleaguered mother year in and year out: At some point during the meal, one of us — usually my sister or me — would go over to speak with her about something we had contrived. And in the course of the conversation, we would slip a dinner mint into the cranberry sauce on her plate. Don’t ask me why we did it; I honestly don’t know. But we did it every year.

By the time I was in high school, we were having our Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations either at our house, or at my aunt and uncle’s house — Turkey Day at one, Christmas at the other. (Yes, we celebrated Christmas, despite being Jewish. A lot of Jewish families did — it was a form of assimilation rooted in social pressure and prejudice.) But in the earliest years of my childhood (and in the years before I was born — I am the youngest child in the family, even the extended family, by quite a few years) we used to drive into New York City to celebrate both holidays at my grandmother’s apartment. Our Gram was a pistol. Funny, irreverent, fiercely loving, independent, strong-willed. She was all of 4 foot 10, but she dominated any room she was in. Even after all these years, when I think of Thanksgiving, the first image that pops into my head is that of our family gathered around her table.

Gram had a few friends who used to join us for Thanksgiving each year. Many of them had been friends of the family for so long that we were expected to call them “Aunt so-and-so” even though there was no actual blood relation. One of these friends was widowed, and she had remarried to a man named Milton, whom we were to call Uncle Milton. Uncle Milton was… Well, how do I describe him? He was old, as one would expect of the friend of a grandparent. But he was also somnambulant. And, looking back on it, I think he used to get pretty hammered at these dinners. We would arrive after he and his wife did, and he would already be well into his cups. We would go to say hello to him and, invariably, he would say, “David. Good to see you. Mind if I don’t get up?” He said this to everyone (although, as far as I know, he didn’t call everyone David…). He never got up, at least not until it was time to transfer from his comfortable chair to the supper table.

Milton became the butt of many, many family jokes. I am not proud of this. None of us are. But it’s true. When we would play 20 Questions, one of us would always devote a round to the poor man. “Is he dead or alive?” “Yes.” “Uncle Milton!” At some point we heard that Milton had fallen and broken his hip. His wife had called him for dinner and he had, against his own better judgment, gotten up. He pushed himself out of his chair and just sort of kept going… When sometime later, we got the sad news that Milton had died, we all wondered how anyone had been able to tell. I know — this is just terrible. Cruel, disrespectful, inappropriate. But, again in the interest of full disclosure, I’m laughing as I type it all out.

Nancy and I have had extended family to our home for Thanksgiving now and again, and for a while we used to share the holiday with another family here in our little town. But our favorite Thanksgivings have been the ones we’ve had with just our daughters, and there have been too few of those in recent years. Our older child has lived in New York since going there for college in 2013. We’ve probably had only two or maybe three Thanksgivings with her since, and we miss her every year. Our younger daughter is still in college and will be coming home this year, with her boyfriend. They both had Covid earlier in the semester and, according to the public health experts Nancy works with at the University, should still be immune and will present no threat to us. It will just be the four of us for the holiday. Quiet, safe. We’ll Zoom with our older daughter at some point, and also with my brother and his wife, who are alone as well, and will be Zooming with their children and my sister-in-law’s parents. Needless to say, this is a strange year.

Which brings me full circle. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, even under these extraordinary circumstances. I find the concept behind it, simple though it is, remarkably affecting. Of course we should take a day to ponder those things for which we are thankful. Yes, we should do this daily, but the fact is we are too often consumed with the demands of the day-to-day, the fraught emotions of a world that seems to careen from one crisis to another, the necessities of work and the obligations that sometimes keep us from appreciating fully the importance of family and friendship. A day of Thanksgiving is, it seems to me, just the tonic we need, this year especially, even as the exigencies of the pandemic limit how many we ought to have seated around our tables.

And so please allow me to close by thanking all of you. Whether you are a stranger who has read one of my books, or a friend I have known for years, or a relative who sat with me at our Gram’s table, I am glad to have you in my life. I wish you a joyous, safe holiday.

Blogging, David B. Coe, Not at all Writing Related

Photo Friday: Fog Happens

We live atop the Cumberland Plateau, about 1000 feet up from what we call the valley, but what is actually just…NOT the plateau. During the summer, that elevation change, though not huge, helps to keep temperatures in our little college town on the cool side. If the valley is at ninety-five degrees, we might only reach high eighties. Believe me, it makes a difference.

The same dynamic that keeps us comfortable in warmer months, brings us colder temperatures, a bit more snow, and a good deal of fog when fall and winter roll around. Quite often, after a front moves through, our little town will be socked in for days at a time. Fog is a thing here. You can buy “Fog Happens” t-shirts at the college bookstore. People here tell stories of driving through the fog with their car doors open, so that they can look down and keep track of the lines on the road. I’ve never done that, but I have driven past our street because I couldn’t see the intersection. When I reach the highway near our house, I sometimes have to turn off the radio and lower the windows so that I can listen for oncoming traffic. Checking only by sight just won’t cut it.

I’ve shared with you other photos from the rails-to-trails path I walk most mornings. This one I took at the end of last week on a cold, foggy morning — no doubt the first many in the coming months.

Wishing you a wonderful, safe weekend. Be kind to one another.

Foggy Path, by David B. Coe

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Winds of the Forelands, Writing

Writing-Tip Wednesday: The Quickening

Okay, writers, raise your hand if any of your characters have ever done things you didn’t expect. Yeah, I figure that’s most of us. Now raise your hand if your characters have ever done things you really didn’t want them to do. Yep. Also most of us.

Of all the things I tell non-writers about what I do for a living, this is the one that always draws the most interest, surprise, and skepticism.

“But they’re creations of your imagination! You control them. How can they surprise you, much less disobey you?”

I control them?! Hah!

At the end of the first book of Winds of the Forelands, a series I intended at the time to be four books long (it wound up being five), one of my characters told me she was pregnant. I swear. I typed the words, sat back, and said aloud, “Freaking hell, she’s pregnant.” Except I didn’t say “freaking.”

I had the other books planned out. I knew where the plot was going and what the character arcs for the rest of the series were supposed to look like. There was no room in there for a kid. None.

“So,” a non-writer might ask, “why not delete that sentence from the manuscript and write something else? They’re your characters, inhabiting your world, right?”

Well, yes, but no.

Because while I didn’t want her to be pregnant, I knew as soon as I typed the words that she had to be, that it made far more sense with all that had come before. And the rest of the series, as eventually written and published, bears this out. It was a much better story with the child than without her. I just needed to be led there, and my character did that for me.

There is an old term, coined originally by midwives — the quickening. This is when a fetus begins to move, showing its first signs of life in the womb. And that is the term I use to describe the evolution of a character from a creature purely of our imagination, to a person capable of making decisions that surprise us and help to shape our narratives.

At my very first DragonCon some twenty-plus years ago, when I was still the newbiest of newbies, I got into an argument with a VERY famous fantasy writer about this very thing. (We were on a panel — this was in front of a crowd.) I won’t give this person’s name. Some of you have heard me tell the story, and so know. The rest of you have my apologies. But this was a BIG name, one of the very biggest. And this person swore up and down that we are the gods of our worlds, the masters of our stories, and if our characters were doing things we didn’t expect then we were doing this wrong. And at last, in my frustration, I said what I believe to this day to be the single wisest thing about character development I have ever offered: If you write them like puppets, they’ll read like puppets. (I patched things up with the Big Name afterwards. This person was gracious and kind, which is why my vehemence, and the implied criticism in my remark, did not wind up ruining my career.)

The quickening is a good thing, a great thing. When our characters begin to behave in a way that feels independent, as if they have agency and will and spirit, they become more real to our readers. They go from being words on a page to being three-dimensional beings.

Now, of course, they really are words on a page. And I have no doubt that someone versed in the workings of the psyche would tell me what is happening has nothing to do with the characters and everything to do with the mechanics of my imagination. At the moment of the quickening, they would likely say, my belief in my characters and my comfort with them reaches a point where they begin to work on my subconscious and influence my thinking about my narrative and my world. Whatever. It’s much easier to say that my characters are surprising me and guiding me. Because that’s how it feels, and in all ways that matter, that’s what’s happening.

I can’t think of any advice that will help you get to this moment with your characters. I would guess that most of you get there on your own, in the normal course of writing your stories. The truth is, the moment when our characters begin to surprise us is the moment when writing becomes really fun. When I’m writing and enjoying the process most, I don’t think so much as I describe things my characters are seeing, and document things they’re doing and saying. Writing dialogue becomes more like stenography — I’m writing down the conversations I hear in my mind.

But I will offer this — to carry the childbirth analogy a bit further…

Dealing with characters who have come alive in our minds is a bit like parenting. We want to give them the freedom they need to become the literary equivalent of living, breathing people. We want them to grow, to be independent, to have that agency I mentioned before so that the stories we’re telling feel organic and true and immediate. At the same time, though, as with real children, we don’t want to give them absolute free reign. That big name author was right in part: This is still our creative work, and while characters have to be allowed to take our stories in unexpected directions, they shouldn’t take over entirely. We wouldn’t want a five-year-old running our household, and we don’t want a fictional character, or even a set of them, making every meaningful decision in our narrative. Put another way, we don’t want to stifle the character’s growth, but by necessity we have to maintain some control.

The quickening is magical and affirming and inspirational. It’s that moment in Frankenstein (or, if you prefer, Young Frankenstein) when the doctor cries out “It’s alive!” It carries our storytelling to another level, transforming writing into something akin to discovery. But we must always remember that it does not absolve us of our creative responsibilities.

Enjoy! And keep writing!