Using Multiple Narrators

By Sharon May

When I started my novel, I didn’t know the story I wanted to tell. Was it the story of burying the bones or the story of finding the bones?  If it was the former, was the setting 1942 or 1978? Or both? If it was of finding the bones, was it the story of who buried the bones, or the story of the reporters who attempt to uncover the truth about the bones? I decided I wanted to tell the story of what happens in the lives of the characters once the bones are found. One narrator could not tell that story. So I began writing with two narrators, Lafe and Preston, two men who are as different as a Saint Bernard and a Chihuahua. I chose first person because of its immediacy and intimacy, but also because both narrators have secrets and live much of their lives alone.

At this point, I found it easy to meet the first rule of multiple narrators: the reader must be able to open the text at any place and immediately identify the narrator of that section. Narrators, like all characters, must be different in language, tone, and cadence. They must be true to themselves in what they say and how they say it.

I finished a draft with two narrators, but was not satisfied. With the help of an editor experienced with Appalachian literature, I realized two narrators told the story of the bones, but not the story of life in Appalachia so I began adding narrators.

This decision complicated the writing. Obviously, each narrator must sound different from the others. With two narrators, I could alter chapters. Now I have to determine the order of the narrators’ chapters to tell the story coherently and cohesively. There are lots of options of who speaks next. I don’t want repeated events, unless different perspectives on the events add to the readers’ understanding. Also, I have to decide who should tell what. Sometimes, only one narrator knows of an event, and the choice is logical. However, shared experiences creates choices, and it is difficult at times to know which narrator is the right one for a scene.

                                                                                                            

Now I have no idea how many narrators I will use to tell the story of small town life in Appalachia in 1978, a time of change and of what some call progress. With multiple narrators comes layers of complexity, conflict, and theme, I can’t help to think my story will be like an Apple Stack Cake, which has many layers (the thinner the better, the more the better), all separated by dried apples or applesauce. As the cake ages, the taste of apples seeps into the layers, creating one heavenly treat. A woman who makes this cake nowadays is a rare find. She, like a lot of my culture, is dying, and I would like to preserve at least some of my memories of that culture in a novel.

Characters

By Laura P. Valtorta

www.gattafilms.com

www.thearthousemovie.webs.com

laurapv.wordpress.com

                                               

Many writers talk about the character-acts-on-her-own phenomenon, where the author sits down to write about her Main Girl spying on people at the library, but who instead ends up tripping skaters at the ice rink. Why does this happen?

When I’m lucky, two-thirds of my waking life is spent in a fantasy world. To the outside world it may seem like “alone time,” (or just weirdness) but I’m really living in a perfect world with my fantasy friends. These friends all like to watch movies, walk on the beach, discuss books, and get coffee. If we talk about work, it’s interesting. If we live in the same house, we enjoy separate bathrooms and television sets. I love my fantasy friends; they cooperate with me and tolerate me. Sometimes they resemble Viggo Mortensen or Margaret Atwood.

Write those fantasies down, however, and the friends become autonomous. They turn into enemies. It’s never --- what would Jane do next? – but – how can I fit that into the story? Perhaps this is because a story must involve conflict, or it’s not a story. At least that’s what we learned in school. Woman versus man; woman versus nature; geek versus the bitch living inside him.

While my fantasy world is an endless round of breakfast pancakes, cycling, writing, and coffee shops in South Pasadena, my fantasy writing takes place in colder climates, such as Watertown, which is a town still struggling to overcome Urban Destruction from the 1970s. Set characters afloat in South Pasadena, and they become boringly, infinitely happy. Those same characters living in Watertown, New York face struggles and obstacles.

Maybe fantasy is all about place: in my mind, on the street, on the page, or on the big screen. My mind prefers to remain calm and cool. Spewing something forth onto the written page or onto the screen, however, implies that it’s a problem waiting to be solved. What is right and what is wrong for humanity? Problems can only be resolved by free agents: characters possessing knowledge and free will who make big mistakes and bad decisions. They must be able to boogie. Anything other than that spells writer’s block.

Getting Naked for My Art

By Kasie Whitener

For a long time I’ve answered the question, “What’s unique about you?” with “I write vampire fiction.”

Last week sitting on a panel for an entrepreneur summit, I used the same description of myself and for the first time thought, “Is that true?”

It is true I have a vampire novel. It’s the one I’m revising in February. I’ve written two, the first and the sequel, and I’m consumed by these characters and the possibilities of them.

But I don’t write vampire fiction. I don’t even read vampire fiction any more.

I write GenX fiction. I write about running into the guy you hooked up with when you were 19 on the first day of your daughter’s kindergarten class. I write about getting a tattoo fixed and having a crush on the much-younger artist because he (and the smell of the place) reminds you of your first time. I write about the class reunion where your ex-boyfriend finally told you he knows you slept with his brother all those years ago. Yep. He knows.

I write about life at 40 juxtaposing what it is with what I thought it would be. I write about being younger than I think I am but much older than I want to be.

Most of my stories take the real story and twist it into something more dramatic, more engaging, more entertaining. But they almost always start in a real story. That’s not vampire fiction. Vampire fiction is fantasy from beginning to end. Vampires are not real and the lives they lead cannot be real, either.

My attraction to realism was born as early as high school. I hated, hated Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison because it pretended to be real until the end when the main character leaps off a cliff and flies. (Spoiler alert)

If fiction is going to be real, be real. Be raw. Tell the truth.

My masters’ thesis was on Naked Realism. A 90’s Version of Dirty Realism, Naked Realism is as raw as the author can get, as close to making characters people as he can. Naked Realism confesses to picked noses and smelly underpants and a person’s proclivity to avoid making a decision. In Naked Realism characters don’t go charging about trying to obtain their burning desire. They turn away from the ambition of desire and settle for less than they’re worth.

I write Naked Realism.

My characters are trapped in the inertia of time. Plagued by regrets and obsessed with not regretting anything, wishing for something more but unwilling to take the risk of going after it. My characters are sometimes totally unaware of the baggage they carry. They let pivotal moments pass them by. They explain away their cowardice with the cultural complacency they inherited.

I write Naked Realism.

It’s sometimes raw and it’s sometimes painful and it sometimes means I’m telling my story to strangers. But someone once said writing is easy, all you have to do is bleed on the page.

The Adventure of Writing

By Bonnie Stanard

Recently I had reason to consider how I go about writing, that is, the process of writing. What comes after the initial inspiration? How does an idea get from my head to the computer screen? Do I mainline uncensored thought? Do I edit as I go? What if there is no inspiration?

In the beginning is an idea. I talk to myself much of the time, in my head, I mean. What I say to myself comes from whatever event, person, or feeling I encounter in the moment. If an idea comes and goes for several days, I’ll get around to writing it down. That doesn’t mean I’ve started a story. Some ideas that thrill my imagination (I’ve got a great idea for a story!) fizzle out when transcribed.

So here I am, using words to corral what I’ve been thinking. Do I search my brain for the best words before my fingers find them on the keyboard? Or does the story itself call out in words for me to use? We writers are often told to just get the story down without a thought about word choice or sentence structure. This advice seems to assume that you know what you want to say. Despite my familiarity with a story in my head, what I want to say often develops as I write, in which case the choice of words is a matter of deciding what I want to say.

I write whether or not it is drudgery, but there are times when I bore myself with what I’ve written. When that happens, I research background material or choose poems from my files and submit to literary journals.

OUTLINE?

In short, no. I can’t seem to discipline my writing. My stories lead and I follow. I’ve tried an outline (once) and the story seemed to deliberately disregard it. I do get a sense of where stories will end. Sometimes this is a revelation and sometimes it’s a hoax.

VERSIONS OF THE TELLING

If I were writing in the 19^th Century, deciding on a narrator would be a no-brainer. Authors described everything visible and commonly known that appertained to the plot. In other words, they wrote from the point of view (POV) known as omniscient.

But then James Joyce got inside the head of Leopold Bloom and wrote Ulysses. Authors have explored versions of narration ever since. We have four conventional POV options, but even those have developed subgroups, thanks to writers such as William Faulkner and, more recently, Hilary Mantel. I think third person limited POV allows more versatility.

When I finish a first draft, I feel like I’ve lost 20 pounds. Then come the revisions, and I feel heavier by 40 pounds.

I work alone in my office without a TV, but there’s no escaping the phone and email. The best way to get work done is to rent an apartment away from my friends and family.