Twenty Questions with Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara (Steward Setback Saturday)

Why would a person allow himself to be legally fictionalized for a book series?

Read on and see. 

But before you do, I'd like to mention the good that's resulted out of this collaboration, and I'm not talking mney. (Nobody's making any serious money here).

One: Ed, who discusses his struggle to write through the years, was given space on this blog to write as the character he created. Yes, that's right. He created his own character for himself, and then I fictionalized it even further for the series. 

Two: Ed realized his dream of seeing some of his works in print when I published a collection of his blogs a couple years ago for Calkins Day that dealt with my Irish genealogy. (I'm not Irish. Ed made it all up).

Three: Ed is now writing is own book for the BryonySeries based on his (and some of mine) characters. And he gets free editing services for this and all of his writings.

Four: He's slowly realizing his dream of just "being known." We've held some small scale celebrations of Calkins Day (with even smaller parades).

Except for using the character in the books, none of these above benefits were stated in print; they've evolved over the years as we've gotten to know each other.

And yes, I did turn down the marriage proposal.

Twenty Questions with Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara

When I first started the BryonySeries blog in 2011, I posted this Q A with the real Ed Calkins in several installments. We did this interview months before the release of the first book, and it has never again been published.

Now for the first time, in living black and purple, is the entire interview with the man that ficionalized himself and allowed me to fictionalize him further for the series.

Just to clarify: Ed Calkins is a real person. He really lives somewhere Chicago-ish and was a supervisor for one of the agents when The Herald-News circulation passed from The Sun Times to the Chicago Tribune. I reported to Ed for my Marycrest route.

Having missed his Ed Calkins parade several years in a row, I offered, as consolation, a one-page monthly newsletter for his imaginary world or a spot in my series as a vampire. His response was, "Immortality, of course."

My attorney drew up the necessary paperwork for Ed to sign off himself. Seriously.

No Ed, is not insane, but wonderfully creative. If you want to know Ed, read the novels, for I dutifully scrawled on brown paper wrapping snatches of conversation overheard in passing at the distribution center while Ed handed out papers or in longer conversations by phone to weave in real dialogue with the imaginary dialogue and overall character arc.

I also spent much time with him, getting to know his "ruthless dictator" persona, as to accurately portray it. In a wonderful and truly humbling act of trust, Ed did not want to read any drafts; rather, he wanted the experience of his fictional self however I chose to write it, a very literary and legally-bound, "Do with me as you will."

It was marvelously empowering.

PS: I did such a good writerly job with Ed that one day, after Timothy had been out of the distribution center for a year attending Joliet Junior College and working at the Renaissance Center, he offered to help us roll papers one night and ran into Ed.

Ed said something to the effect of, "Wow, I haven't see you in a long time." Timothy blinked, yes, literally blinked, in surprise, for he had been reading drafts of Staked! as I had chaptered it off and felt as if he'd seen Ed every day.

Any blog post on this series attributed to Ed was really written by Ed. Just so you know.

And now, the interview:

        1)      Who is the ruthless dictator?

“My son was doing a lot of role playing games, and he was trying to come up with a bard and give him magical powers. I told him there was no need coming up with magical items, because bards are already too powerful, providing they’re not trying to seek notoriety for themselves. Ruthless dictators are not afraid to die. They’re just afraid of how they’ll be remembered. It’s not effective to compose a song or a limerick or an epic poem glorifying yourself. You’ve got to have other people saying it about you. Why not cut the military in half and invent some really good limericks? You can really insult someone into submission.”

2)      Why did you invent him?

“I was bullied as a boy, so it came from the way I would get back at bullies. I would think something negative about them, because verbalizing it wouldn’t go well. In my mind, I called it even. The ruthless dictator really started when I got a ticket running a stop sign when I was delivering newspapers on a really snowy day. If I had stopped, I would never have gotten going again. I really thought the ticket was unfair. As revenge, I picked ten people out f the phone book and thought bad things about them. My wife thought that was pretty corny. Later, I took over the entire town. I didn’t have to conquer a nation. It just had to be a place, at least metaphorically. It had to have its own identity.”

3)      What was your reaction when asked to become part of a vampire novel?

“I was nervous at revealing my ignorance about vampires. I didn’t know a lot about it. I worked quickly to remedy it.”

4)      Why did you accept?

“Immortality, of course. I can’t think about myself in everything. I have to think about 1,000 years from now, and if there’s going to be a three-day holiday in my name or not. There’s a side of me that thinks this could be goofy enough to think this could actually happen.”

5)      Weren’t you afraid of how you might be portrayed?

“No, and a lot of that comes from my survival mechanism as a kid. I learned to play along with the bullies rather than fight them. Part of my comedic outreach is self-deprecating, so it didn’t really seem that anything negative could hurt me. The ruthless dictator would say, ‘Look, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.’ King Midas is much better off than King Midas the Second, even though he was portrayed in a bad light, because nobody remembers King Midas the Second.”

.

6)      What if fans expect the real Ed Calkins to be similar to the fictional Ed Calkins?

“He is like him. There’s just that side of him. He’s significant in an offbeat way, enough to where he can claim the stewardship of Tara without blushing.”

7)      The Irish have no solid vampire legends. How do you feel about being the first, real Irish vampire?

“I think other people will make more of that than I will. Being known as the Steward of Tara is more of a crowing achievement in my mind.”

8)      Where did your love of Irish lore and history begin?

“It started with my love of history. Then I looked into mythology, and I used to tell my son a lot of tales and legends. When he reached high school and heard the same thing, my credibility rose in his eyes. One thing I had told him that wasn’t really true is that Ireland was always a backwash of European history, unless your interest is war. Then, it is probably true. There were many Irish warriors. It’s just they tended to be fodder; they were never fighting for Ireland. Ireland is probably the only place where you get a sense of what pre-Christianity was about, so if you want to know Ireland, just study its myth. Even before I was really into being Irish, I had a disdain for the Roman Empire, which, I think, gave me a bias toward the Irish. In all honesty, I’m American, but my heritage is Irish. It only takes going to Ireland to know that.”

9)      How did you research your Irish heritage?

“I’ve read a lot of books. Also, as a college freshman, I got put into an Irish literature course, which I wasn’t very interested in it at the time. I’m not one of those people who have forgotten much of what they learned in college. So it stayed with all these years in a recessive way. The problem is that I’m very bad with names. The proper study of Irish mythology involves heroes, kings, and saints, in that order. They are alive today through the last names. I just don’t know who these people are.”

      10)   When did you begin writing?

“I started with poetry. In the eighth grade I wrote poem that resonated a little bit.        So, throughout high school, I wrote poetry. I was an editor of the literary magazine and the editor in chief the last year. Something bizarre about me is that I can’t finish anything. I have these really organized fantasies, but I’m not a wordsmith. I just lost my hard drive, which means I lost everything I’ve written for the last twenty years. I should be beside myself, but I’m not, because none of the pieces were really finished

       11)   What have you written?

“I actually wrote a historical fiction novel when I was in high school. I had a         fascination for Hannibal, so I put myself on the other side facing Hannibal’s army. I didn’t really know how to handle it, but I did write it.”

        12)   How had you shared your writings in the past?

“I posted them. When I was working on my trilogy, someone would send me an e-mail that said, “Send me your story,” and I’d send them a few chapters. Then I’d get another email saying, ‘That was great. Send me some more.’ So, a lot of it was praise-driven. The problem is that twenty years have passed. The protagonist has become darker and the eroticism is no longer interesting, I hate to admit. In my mind, I’ve reduced the second book to a single, short story. Also, every novel I’ve written was also an idea for a game. I had done a really good job of writing the games, again not finished. The smallest details completely derail a project for me.”

13)    How do you overcome writer’s block?

“The truth is I don’t. My writing block is fear. By the time I do write, it’s only because the ideas have been spilling out over and over and over again through my mind, to where it’s enough already. The details have become an irritant, so I just sit down and write.”

14) What motivates you to compose a limerick?

   “I get ticked off, and my mind starts putting lines together. It’s different with limericks because I don’t have to actually write them. A limerick is not fine art. Because of its structure, a kindergartener is just as good as composing limericks as an adult.”

          15)  Why is legacy important to you?

“I think it’s fascinating to me in the same way history is. Think of Sue, the Tyrannosaurus Rex, which lived approximately 25 million years ago and compare that to the 6,000 years of civilization. In the eyes of God, dinosaurs must be a statement of survivability. Humanity is still an experiment in its infancy. When all is said and done, the history of humans is going to be a lot more significant than the bones of a creature, but we’re not there yet. We’re gong to have to start with many things, including being a lot older than 6,000 years. Maybe there won’t be an Ed Calkins parade that 6,000 years old, but maybe there will a 1,000 years old Ed Calkins Day parade, which will create the much larger tradition of there still being parades.”

16) How did the idea for Ed Calkins day parade originate?

“I discovered that my birthday and Valentines Day had a little conflict when I started dating my wife. The first year I was dating her, we went out and celebrated my February 13^th birthday. Guess what happened on the fourteenth?  I didn’t have Valentine for her. That offended her at the time. My defense was, ‘Come on, it was my birthday.’ I guess where started. Then I started joking with other people that my birthday should be a national holiday. When you couple that with Lincoln’s birthday and the stars aligned in the sky, you can see it was meant to be.”

17)  You’re famous for cookouts, Queen of Christmas contests, candy canes and Santa hat distribution and palette jack races. Why host these things?

“Have fun, of course. Distribution centers can be so dreary. If everyday is like the last, no one wants to get up.

18)   Do you own a kilt?

“I used to, but I gave it away to my brother. It no longer fit, at the waistline. So, currently, I do not have a kilt. They’re not cheap. They can cost a couple hundred dollars.”

19)  For what occasions did you wear it?

“Initially I wore it St. Paddy’s day. I wore it the whole day. I was I in newspapers and, yeah, I went to work with it. My wife wouldn’t let me do it after I married her. It happened this way. I have a way of not taking care of garments. When I was starting to date her, most of my jeans had holes in them. She takes care of her possessions. That how I knew we were serious when she started washing my clothes. But when a woman starts washing your clothes, she gets to say what get discarded and what gets kept. You know my striped shirts? Those were her idea. My wife now dresses me. I used to dress differently.

20)  What are your plans for this blog?

“I’d like make some myths of my own, but that won’t start until the book comes out. I’m thinking it might be fun to add different side stories of the character into the blog, but maybe, too, I might be able to introduce some of the traditional Irish myths. I’ve been wanting write something about the interplay of state fairs in Ireland. There were laws concerning them, such as you couldn’t arrest anyone during a fair and you could not engage in war. All combat had to be resolved before a fair was scheduled to start. I’d also like to write about the Knights of the Red Branch and maybe some adventure that happens to some of the knights. That’s the neat thing about a blog. Speaking from the character, if something doesn’t fit, or if there is something else I want to say, I can always come back with, ‘I was just joking. Here’s what really happened.’ I’m very excited about this. I feel I’m getting closer to that three-day holiday.”

Flawed, Yet Beautiful

In the third and fifth installments of Before The Blood, I have a character who is mentioned only once by name in Bryony as part of the parade of guests at the garden party.

There was the short and stocky Mayor James Fisher and his equally short and stocky wife Maybelle, and their two daughters, whose names Melissa did not catch, and who resembled a female version of Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

In Before the Blood, all these characters come alive and become more than a quick look. Maybelle's first two descriptions are these:

"Listen to you. I'm as fat as a little pig and still you tempt me with food. Why, Maybelle's ankles look like sticks compared to mine. I don't belong in a cabin. I belong in a pasture, chomping clover and mooing."

All summer Maybelle, as plump and sweet as an overripe peach now that she was expecting, stocked the Marseilles cabin with bounties from Fisher Farm.

The reader eventually meets Maybelle "in person." Maybelle has a tendency to babble (in fact, others often interrupt her just to get to the point), and she grows larger with each child (Seven are mentioned, but it's unknown if Maybelle ever had a miscarriage or stillbirth).

And while it's easy to make assumptions or dismiss her (she's a secondary character and her role is minor), one reader names her as a favorite and sent me this over the weekend:

Maybelle is Mother Earth - the true strong, feminine ideal. Her willingness to fix the broken children at any expense to herself. You sense she's stronger than the men. Yet, she never loses her feminine mystique.

She absolutely shines. In the tarot she'd be the empress.

I responded: I love this. Maybelle isn't fashionably thin  and she talks too much. And yet you, the reader, can appreciate her strong femininity. I think Maybelle would be surprised, but humbled and thankful, someone sees her this way.

Do you know a "Maybelle?"

Illustration by Kathleen Rose Van Pelt for "Bryony."

Character Development in Novels: 10 Questions to Ask When Self-Editing

Characters:

1) Are lead characters interesting and fully developed?

2) Do they have strengths and weaknesses? Quirks, habits, and interests?

3) Do they have clear goals and dreams?

4) Are they motivated in ways appropriate to the plot as well as their personalities and goals?

5) Are all characters vital to the story?

6) Do you have enough characters? Too many characters?

7) Do they grow with the story? If not, give them plot-appropriate challenges.

8) Are they appropriate to target reader age, era, and genre?

9) Are they believable?

10) Make sure responses/actions/reactions are character-appropriate.

Using Scenes to Describe New Characters

Since its inception, Munsonville has been an "everyone welcome here" village. 

In the ten chapters that comprise the first part of "Bryony's Story," the village and the characters grow and develop while the plot lengthens through that development like a sneaky thread of mold.

Chapter seven, currently in progress, introduces three pivotal characters and shows the change in current ones. Instead of relying on description, I allow the reader to meet them through observation and the opinions of others, like this:

After services, as Bryony filed into the narthex with the chatter of the villagers bumping around her like molecules, she heard Mrs. Fisher's voice rise above the rest: "Twins, you say?"

            "Yes, Maybelle, Scandinavian, 'ccording to Teddy, and very, very reclusive."

            "Reclusive? Oh, my, what a thought! I just don't see how anyone in or near this village could possibly be reclusive, not when we have..."

            "The boys won't speak, and the father snaps if anyone approaches them. He talks only to Owen and only when necessary."

            "Oh, them! James didn't say they were twins, but he did insist that their fishing skills were unlike anything he's ever seen or heard. Why just last night, when we were sitting down to one of Clyde's excellent dinners of..."

            "Happy Easter, Bryony," Luther said, falling into step with her as Leo socked him on the shoulder and walked past, grinning. "That's a pretty bonnet. Is it new?"

            "Yes."

            Twins?

            "...although, Sally, I once read that Scandinavians are quite naturally the most superior fishermen in the world. Do you know what Uncle Clyde once told us? The Pacific Northwest attracted so many fishermen from Denmark, Finland, Norway, and, yes, even Sweden that it was nicknamed Little Scandinavia. Why, do you know what James said..."

            Mrs. Fisher, who looked larger every time Bryony saw her, and Mrs. Bass, pretty as always, even though she was growing stout, too, walked outside, right behind Mr. Parks and Mr. Bass (who were discussing the latest fishing lures), taking the intriguing story with them.

            Twins? Real twins like The Prince and the Pauper, not simply a close resemblance, like eleven-year-old Leo and ten-year-old Luther with their matching brown trousers and suspenders and hair plastered in place?

            Bryony touched the brim, happy someone, even if it was only Luther,  noticed it. "Mrs. Parks sewed it for me, and Mrs. Pike made the flowers."

            The door opened, and Mrs. Hasset stepped inside. She wore a fitted coat that reached her boot tops.

            "Luther, let's go." She gestured with a gloved hand to the waiting carriage.

            The sheen of the coat's gray fabric and matching buttons reflected the natural light. Bryony stared, mesmerized at such lovliness, only half-hearing Luther say, "We're having Easter dinner at Mayor Pike's house."

            Reluctantly, Bryony turned her gaze away from the beautiful Mrs. Hasset. With a look of apology, Luther added, "I...I  wish you a pleasant day with Mr. and Mrs. Parks."

            "Thank you."

            "Where is your Uncle Orville?" An agitated Mrs. Parks was tying her bonnet strings and prodding Bryony to the door with her elbow. "I've looked all over for him?"

            "I think he's outside with Mr. Bass."

            "Those men and fishing! And on the Lord's Day of Days, too." Mrs. Parks held out her hand. "Come, Bryony."

            They walked in silence to the Parks' until Bryony asked, "Uncle Orville, who are 'the twins'?'"

            "Arvid Borgstrom's lads."

            "Who's that?"

            "New fisherman in town. Durned fine one, too."

            "Orville! Such language!"

            But Mrs. Parks' outburst couldn't dampen Bryony's curiosity. "Are the boys fishermen, too?"

            "Bryony, don't be so inquisitive. Orville, are you certain Mr. Griffith doesn't wish us to bring dinner?"

            "For the sixtieth time, Bertha, Ida is helpin' at the mayer's partee; Harv is goin' to Fisher Farm with Owen; and Gus jest wants to forgit about holidaze and celebratin.'"

            "He's not the same since Pearl's passing. I'm worried sick about him."

            "Gus is a growed man. Just let 'im be. And yes, Bryony, the boys fish, too."

            "Are they good fishermen, like Mr. Borgstrom?"

            "Dey git along."

            They had reached the Parks' small balloon-frame home, its maize-colored exterior, bright blue door and window sashes, and whitewashed trim a cheery beacon against the cold. Mason Woodrow's rockers, Mrs. Parks' broom, and a napping Puss were missing from the porch, but Bryony knew Mr. Parks would replace the items once the Arctic air departed, and Puss would reclaim her chair once he did.

            The trio headed to the back, as proper, per Mrs. Parks. Only company entered by way of the front. Bryony didn't mind. Extra walking no longer exhausted her, thanks to the magical power of meat.

           

            "I've never seen the Borgstrums. Where do they live?"

            "In yore parents' old cottage near the lake."

            "Orville!"

            "Bertha, tame yore feathers. The truth ain't gonna make Bryony brake like glasss."

            Mrs. Parks stomped up the steps. "When you're done chit-chatting, I need her assistance with meal preparation."

            WHAM went the back door. Mr. Parks, grinning, started for the barn, where Old Drew paced restlessly, hungry for Easter dinner. Bryony shadowed him.

            "Why is she mad, Uncle Orville?"

           

            "She ain't mad. She's jest protectin' you, like a Fisher Farm hen hoverin' round her chicks." He stopped and gently turned her to the house. "Now git in dere and help."

            Although the day grew sunnier and brighter, a lingering chill hung in the air, enough that Mrs. Parks interrupted dinner to walk through the house, shutting windows and griping.

            "So much for enjoying a spring breeze on Easter Sunday," Mrs. Parks said as she tucked her napkin back into her collar.

            "You'll soon be  complain' 'bout the heat," Mr. Parks liberally helped himself to more fish. "Now this is tasty. New receipt?"

            "Yes." Mrs. Parks still looked glum. "Soaked in vinegar."

            Mr. Parks looked long and hard at her. "Afore long, you'll be beatin' rugs and sweepin dust out the door."

            "Maybe." But she didn't sound convinced.

            Bryony spied the twins a week later, enroute to Mr. Drake's store. They had docked and were hanging fish, an amazing amount of fish, from rope attached to poles, much as Mrs. Parks hung laundry outside. The boys appeared identical: nearly fully grown and lanky, with a shock of blond hair falling over their foreheads. They worked in coordinated, rhythmic moves and spoke to each other in a language Bryony couldn't comprehend.

            "What would Mrs. Parks have today, Bryony?" Mr. Drake asked as the door clanged behind her.

            "Mace and cinnamon. She's frying crullers."

            Mr. Drake nodded to Addison. "The usual amount, boy."

            Addison slid off his stool to measure and package. Bryony drifted to the window and only half-heard Mr. Drake talking to Mrs. Betts as he added up her purchases.

            "Congratulations, Phoebe."

            "Fer what?"

            Two men had joined the teens. One was Mr. Munson and the other looked like the boys, except he was older, and his face twisted in a snarl.

           

            "The engagement of your son Paul to Ida Griffith."

            "They ain't engaged!"

            Somewhere a door banged, and a bell jangled.

            "Your order is ready, Bryony."

            She wondered from where they had come and why they had picked Munsonville to live and fish.

            "What has caught your eye?" a voice behind her said.

            It was Mr. Drake. Bryony pointed to the fishermen and looked back at Mr. Drake. His smile had fled.

            "Yes. The Borgstrums. Bryony, you must not delay Mrs. Parks' crullers."

            Bryony trailed Mr. Drake back to the counter where Addison handed her the paper sack. He had written the cost on the side eight dollars: four dollars for an ounce of powered cinnamon bark and four dollars for half an ounce of mace.

            "Thank you," Bryony said and moved toward the door, wondering all the way to The Munsonville Times office why Mr. Drake didn't like them. Thoughtfully, she pushed open the door.

            "Good day, Miss Bryony."

            At the sound Leo's voice rising over the clickety-clickety-clack of the typewriters, Luther, who was setting wood type on the cast iron press, glanced up. Beyond him, dark splotches marred the board walls.

            Mr. and Mrs. Hasset, as well as Lillian, looking very much like Mrs. Hasset with her hair put up, sat at the desks, studying shorthand squiggles while their fingers zoomed over the keys. The atmosphere, taut like piano wire, crackled with energy and smelled of ink and oil.

            "One copy of The Munsonville Times?"

            "Yes, please, Leo."

            He pointed to the stack on the counter. "That will be six cents."

            Bryony removed six pennies from her pinafore pocket, gave them to Leo, and then took a paper. He carefully counted the coins and added them to the register. Luther had resumed working, but he stole an occasional peep at Bryony.

            "It has the next installment of 'The Vicar's Ghost.' Mrs. Parks will like that."

            Bryony giggled. "If Mr. Parks doesn't find out first."

            The door burst open. Mr. Borgstrom stalked in, slapped six cents on the counter, snatched a newspaper, and stormed out.

            "That was rude," Bryony said.

            Leo shrugged. "Some folks don't have much to say."

            Bryony dawdled on the way back to the parsonage, contemplating the Borgstroms, the dozens of strung-up fish, the confident capability of the twins, and the impolite way Mr. Borgstrom had bought newspaper. She disagreed with Leo. Mr. Borgstrom did have much to say. He simply hadn't said it with words.

            "Heavens, child, what happened?" Mrs. Parks asked when Bryony trooped into the kitchen at long last.

            Bryony set The Munsonville Times on the table. "Other customers."

            Mrs. Parks tore open the spice package and quickly began measuring. "If I don't hurry, I won't see the paper until tomorrow."

            "What's the rush? You always read first."

            "Your father invited company to dinner." With loud exasperated sighs, Mrs. Parks crumbled butter and sugar together.

            "Who?"

            "Children should be seen and not heard. Bryony, please knead so I can peek at the news."

            Bryony rinsed her hands and hurried to help, not at all surprised Mrs. Parks had yielded to temptation. Mrs. Parks was already at the table hunched over the newspaper, reading spectacles on, face cupped in her hands.

            "Leo said the next installment of 'The Victor's Ghost' is out," Bryony remarked as she rolled and pushed the dough.

            Mrs. Parks didn't answer.

Making Gossip Work for Your Story

We've all been taught not to do it, but, let's face it, many of us do  it. So why not use it to your advantage?  You can share quite a bit of character information to your readers  by having other characters talk about them behind their backs.

I submit Kimberly Whitney and Lauren Cooper.

Kimberly Whitney from Bryony:

“Tell us about your famous musician,” Kimberly Whitney had said, her blue eyes glinting with uncharacteristic interest. She claimed not to wear contacts, but Melissa knew she was lying. Nobody’s eyes had color that clear. (Bryony, Chapter 2: There's No Such Thing as a Ghost)

“What does Kimberly look like?” he asked.

“Like us, I guess, except she has straight blonde hair and blue eyes.”

“Long lashes, too,” Laura added. “She’s really pretty.”

Officer Will quickly looked down, but Melissa swore she first saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “She’s only seventeen?” His voice shook, but he cleared his throat twice and added, “Was she down on Main Street with you tonight?”

“Yes,” Laura said. “Is that important?”

His cheeks turned bright pink, but he only said, “When did you last see her?” (Bryony, Chapter 8: the Night is Darkest)

That night, on her way to bed, Melissa heard Steve say, “The poor kid,” so she tiptoed to the door.

“I hate to be callous, Steve, but Kimberly’s pulled other stunts like this.”

“She has? And Melissa associates with her? That doesn’t sound like you.”

Kimberly had often boasted how hitchhiking was easy, if you swindled the right sucker. Could Kimberly have outwitted the wrong person?

Her mother sighed. “They’d been friends since kindergarten, so Frank saw no harm if they stayed in a group. I guess we were wrong.” (Bryony, Chapter 8: The Night is Darkest)

Lauren Cooper from Staked!

Before heading toward the nursing home, Melissa stopped at Taylor’s for John-Peter’s school supplies and replacements for the clothes he’d outgrown, but this last was the easiest part of the day, since all he required was jeans and plain T-shirts: green, brown, red, orange, or yellow.  

            “Well,” Melissa said as they waited to check-out.  “When Ann calls to complain, I won’t be able to relate.”

            “Lauren is the little fashion princess, is she not?”

            Melissa grinned as the cashier moved the items down the belt. “Trenton’s demands are not far off either, from what I hear.”

            “Trenton’s style suits the future neurosurgeon. Lauren copies the pseudo-trendy.” (Staked! Chapter 5: The School Physical)

The bell rang. Trenton did not move. John-Peter picked up his tray and headed to the garbage can. Courtney Rogers, the mayor's daughter, sidled up to him. Courtney was Lauren’s best friend, which meant she only talked to John-Peter when Lauren was not around. (Staked! Chapter 6: Outcast)

“Hey, John-Peter,” Trenton said, deftly catching the apple without looking up, “did you know acoustic neuromas grow on the eighth cranial nerve in the inner ear?”

            “I do now.”

            “You’ve got to be careful removing them, too, or you can damage the seventh cranial nerve, maybe even cause hearing loss. Boy, I wish I had that now.”

            “An acoustic neuroma?”

            “No, hearing loss. I’m tired of listening to Lauren’s obsession with Curtis Chandler. She hangs on the phone all night yakking about him.” (Staked! Chapter 10: Teacher's Pet)

“John-Peter, I can hear the weeping now. I’m going to have a bad night.”

            “You broke your forceps?”

          “No, Curtis Chandler broke Lauren’s heart. Haven’t you noticed him hanging all over Karla?” (Staked! Chapter 11: A New Friend)

“Too bad you’re not going, John-Peter,” Karla said. “You should see my dress. It’s lavender with..."

            “Listen to yourself. You sound like Lauren Cooper.”

         Karla giggled. “Lauren Cooper is hopping mad. She got invited to the dance more than anyone else—a couple of guys from Jenson High even called her—but she turned them all down, because she was convinced Curtis was going to change his mind about taking me and ask her instead.” (Staked! Chapter 12: Last Choice)

Karla pushed in and tugged the boy's ear.

    “John-Peter, you listen to me. Lauren Cooper coaxed Curtis into coming home with her after the picnic. One thing led to another and…well…she threatened to tell the whole school what happened if he took me to the dance.” (Staked! Chapter 13: The Mad Scientist)

Revealing Character Through Dialogue

There are several ways readers get to know the characters in your novel. One is by "show" (The reader experiences the character as he/she is revealed), another is by description (A character's physical appearance and demeanor gives clues to the personality).

A third is through the opinions of himserlf/herself and the other characters. An example is Cornell Dyer from Visage. 

In Cornell's own words:

Amateurish paintings of astrologic symbols, hexagrams, and magic wands covered the motor home’s white exterior. A sign painted across one side read: The Thaumaturgical World of Professor Cornell Dyer: Amulets, Fortune-Telling (with and without cards), Ghost-Hunting, Horoscopes, Numerology, Palm-Reading.

“You have reached The Thaumaturgical World of Professor Cornell Dyer. We offer amulets, fortune-telling--with and without cards--ghost-hunting, horoscopes, numerology, palm-reading, potions, séances, spells, and vampire-slaying. The professor is busy saving the world right now, so please leave your name, number, and a detailed message after the beep. He will return your call as soon as possible.”

And in the words of others:

. I can’t wait for you guys to meet my husband. I’m sure he will have lots in common with John. Cornell’s a professor, too.”

“He is?” Melissa wondered if Julie had not given her prejudiced information about Katie’s situation. “What kind of professor?”

“He’s a professor of the esoteric.”

“The what!”

“The esoteric. You know, the occult.”

“I know what esoteric means,” Melissa said, losing patience with her old friend. “Katie, you can’t be serious.”

Katie giggled. “I sure am. Not only is he smart, he’s very compassionate, which is why we travel around the country. That’s all Cornell does is help people, kind of like an old-fashioned medicine man. He goes from place to place teaching people about the mystical world they can’t see and fixing their problems.”

This last statement did it for Melissa. “He solves their problems? For free?”

           
 “Big problems, little problems; it doesn’t matter to Cornell."

“Melissa, you would not believe the voluminous amounts of research this man has singlehandedly accomplished and documented. He’s filled shelves with the details of his experiments. They’re referenced and cross-referenced, graphed and charted. I couldn’t read it all if I spent every night there. The man’s a pioneer into another realm.”

 “He’s a glorified birthday party magician."

Cornell grabbed Melissa’s hand, slapped one business card into it, and said, “Call me at this number tomorrow morning when John wakes up.”

She tried to return the card, but Cornell closed her fist around it and gave her an enigmatic smile. Melissa snatched her hand away.

“Cornell Dyer, it’ll be a cold day in hell when I call you.”

“That’s “Professor” to you.”




How long Melissa frantically paced outside the restaurant she did not know, but at some point the front door opened, and Cornell stepped outside. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the building.

“Nice evening,” he said around the butt.

“Bug off."

Cornell blew out smoke. “You don’t like me, Melissa.”

“Wow! You really do have a crystal ball.”




“I told him what a wonderfully awesome job he had done that night, and he thanked me. Then he cut another piece and offered me a slice, too. I didn’t really want any cake because of my diet but then decided the cake must taste very good because I’d seen Cornell eat three pieces. 




John-Peter picked up his plate, tilted it to his mouth, slurped the remaining juice, and then said, “Maybe you should call Cornell Dyer.”

Oh, how she despised the sound of that man’s name!

“John-Peter, please be quiet.”

“Father says Cornell is a genius.”




He plopped onto the couch, turned on the television, and braced his feet against the coffee table. Melissa angrily strode across the room and shoved his feet onto the floor. Cornell yawned, but did not otherwise react, except to pick up the television guide. and ask, “What’s good this time of day?”