On a More Serious Note

I have this mirror.

Some stories haunt our dreams.  Others have a character who will peck away at your brain until you cave and write them.  And others still begin with the certain type of person who desperately needs to discover that even the ancient powers of darkness are tired of his nonsense.

More or less, that's how this one came along.

I have lots of ideas but not as much time to write them so I leave myself detailed notes.  The newest idea is a Southern Gothic dark comedy set in a fictional town in 1890 Tennessee.  It follows a rather self-important individual named Ambrose who believes the supernatural world is intensely invested in his grievances.

Unfortunately for Ambrose, the supernatural world has other things to do.

The story is told through the eyes of a Dark Mother Goddess who Ambrose keeps on attempting to summon.  She's ancient, powerful, feared, worshipped, and 1,000% done with this mortal who has somehow mistaken her for his personal revenge department.

The first summoning might have been an accident.

The second suggested arrogance.

By the seventh, she realizes that she has quite the recurring problem.

The supernatural creatures in this book are frightening.

Ambrose is exhausting.

And that distinction is important.

So, why am I writing this?

Beneath the gothic atmosphere and the comedy, there is something much more personal beneath this story.

I have escaped an abusive situation myself.  I'm not going to name him as I don't believe he's worth the energy.

I don't plan on turning this book, or even this post, into a detailed account of what happened to me.  This manuscript isn't about me.

One of the oddest things about abusive and controlling relationships is the enormous mythology the abuser can construct around themselves both past and present.  They become the tragic hero, the misunderstood genius, the victim of everyone else's cruelty.  Every boundary becomes persecution, every consequence is betrayal, and the person who walks away becomes the villain.

Them:  "You are such an asshole."

Me:

Sometimes it's the only way.

And sometimes the only reasonable artistic response is to hand that person a candle, lock them in the haunted attic, and let the old goddess stare at them like:  "Oh, for the love of Zeus.  Not this one again!"

This is where the humor in this story lives.

The joke isn't abuse.

The joke isn't the person trying to escape.

The joke is the towering and yet very fragile ego of someone convinced that heaven, hell, the ancestors, the dead, several ancient deities, and the entire spirit realm must all validate his version of events.

Where the Money Is Going

There is another part of this project that I feel is very important:

Any and all author profits that I receive from this book will be donated to organizations helping people affected by domestic violence.

I don't want this story to only benefit me.  I'd rather take it and redirect it to whatever good comes from it towards helping people trying to rebuild safter lives.

There is something wonderfully appropriate about that.

A story about an abusive man's desperate attempts to reclaim power ultimately helping people escape abusive people.

Ambrose would absolutely hate that.

The Dark Mother would approve.

A Serious Note

For as many jokes I may be able to insert into this story, real-world abuse isn't funny and leaving an abusive relationship can be complicated and dangerous.

There's no one single or correct to leave.

Not everyone can do as I did and just leave immediately.  The fact that both my neighbors were heavily armed, that I knew a lot of the police, may have been what helped save me.  Sometimes a person has to quietly make plans over weeks or months.  Sometimes they can leave and return several times before they are finally able to stay away.  There are so many factors that can make "just leave" a very unhelpful thing to say.

If you do need help there are many numbers you can contact.

If you're in the USA like I am the National Domestic Violence Hotline can be reached at 1-800-799-7233, or by texting START to 88788.

If you are a man in a domestic violence situation please reach out here.

https://mensadviceline.org.uk/

For all international readers: Please visit Lila.help to find a trusted domestic or gender-based violence organization in your country.

A note about digital safety: An abusive person may monitor phones, computers, browser histories, location services, phone bills or online accounts. If you believe your device is being monitored, consider accessing these resources from a safer device when possible.

And if someone you care about is living through something like this, one of the most valuable things you can offer is a place where they can speak without being interrogated about why they stayed, why they went back, or why they didn't recognize the danger sooner.

Sometimes survival is messy but it is still survival.

When “A Man” Really Means “I”: Hedging in Character Voice

 

Behold, the writer’s natural habitat: somewhere between a strong sentence and this shrub.

I'll admit I did this one a fair amount for a certain character when writing The Malpais Bride.  It's also due out this October!

Hedging is one of those sneaky little writing habits that can slip into your manuscript so quietly that you don't even notice it.

In writing, simply put, hedging is language that softens, qualifies, or creates distance from a statement instead of making it directly. 

Words and phrases such as maybe, perhaps, seemed, almost, somehow, I think, and I suppose are some common examples.  You might say, She seemed angry instead of She was angry, or I thought perhaps he was lying instead of I knew he was lying. 

Sometimes that uncertainty is what a scene needs.  Other times the hedging sneaks in because we're reluctant to commit fully to what the character is saying.

But there is another type of hedging that can be much more interesting.  Sometimes it isn't the writer that's hedging but the character is.

But there is another kind of hedging I find much more interesting.

Sometimes the writer isn’t hedging.

The character is.

While working on Samuel’s point of view in The Malpais Bride, I noticed that he has a habit of doing something very specific.  When a thought becomes too personal, Samuel's voice would stop saying I.  He would say things like " a man..." and use third person tone.

On the surface, this sounds like a general observation.  Especially for the time period.  Doing this allowed Samuel to notice things and say things without getting emotionally involved.

Except, story wise, Samuel is thinking about his new wife.

What he really means is:

I noticed her.

More specifically:

I noticed she was beautiful.

And suddenly the sentence becomes much more personal than Samuel is comfortable admitting.

That makes the hedge useful.

The Difference Between Weakness and Distance

When editing, it can be tempting to make a list of weak words and remove every instance of them.  That can be rather helpful but it can also flatten your character's voice if you're not careful.

There's a big difference between a writer weakening a sentence and a character protecting themselves from one.

Let's take:

I’m lonely.

It's direct, vulnerable, and rather difficult to misunderstand.

Now let's take Samuel thinking:

A man gets lonely after enough years by himself.

The meaning is almost identical.

Emotionally, however, the sentences are worlds apart.

In the second version, Samuel has managed to discuss his loneliness without technically admitting that he is lonely.

This is emotional hedging: language that allows a character to approach a truth without quite touching it.

And it can tell us an enormous amount about them.

Three Kinds of Hedging

When I come across hedging during revision, I find it useful to ask what kind I am looking at.

Accidental Hedging

This is the variety most writing advice warns against.

Let's take:

She seemed to be angry.

If the viewpoint character can clearly see that she is angry, seemed to be may be weakening the sentence.

Let's compare with:

She was angry.

Or depending on the scene:

She slammed the cup onto the table.

Likewise:

I somehow managed to climb the fence.

Depending on the situation, does somehow actually contribute?  On occasion, it doesn't help.

These may be places where the writer may simply be nervous about committing to the sentence.

Genuine Uncertainty

Not every hedge is bad.

If the narrator does not know something, the uncertainty belongs there.

Someone seemed to be standing beyond the trees.

That sentence creates a very different situation from:

Someone was standing beyond the trees.

The first tells us the narrator can't quite see what they are looking at.

That uncertainty has a purpose.

In that case, the hedge is doing work.

Emotional Hedging

Here's where it gets fun.  It's when the character knows exactly what they mean but they don't want to say it.

Let's take Samuel saying:

A man might miss having somebody around.

Translation:

I miss having somebody around.

~*~

A fellow could get used to this.

Translation:

I like this.

~*~

A man notices when a pretty woman walks into a room.

Translation:

I noticed her immediately and I will not be taking any follow-up questions.

This kind of hedging can reveal embarrassment, grief, fear, pride, repression, cultural expectations, or simply a personality that has never learned how to speak directly about emotion.

Sometimes “I” Is the Scariest Word

First-person narration can feel inherently intimate because everything passes through I.

I saw, I heard, I remembered, I wanted.

But it doesn't mean every first person narrator is emotionally honest.

A character might describe every detail of a room rather than acknowledge why they entered it.  They might explain another person’s behavior instead of admitting how it affected them.  

They might turn personal feelings into universal observations.

People get tired of being alone.

A woman ought to know better.

A man can only take so much.

Sometimes those sentences really mean:

I’m tired.

I’m ashamed.

I’m hurt.

The narrator didn't lie.

But they have stepped sideways around the truth.

The Question I Ask During Revision

When I find hedging now, I try not to immediately delete it.

Instead, I ask:

Who is hedging here, the writer or the character?

If I am hedging because I haven't committed to what is happening, the sentence probably needs strengthening.

If the character is hedging because admitting the truth would frighten, embarrass, or expose them, I may want to leave it exactly where it is.

Sometimes I may even lean into it.

Because eventually, if the character changes, their language can change too.

Early in the story:

A man could grow fond of having her around.

Later:

I didn’t want her to leave.

That shift from a man to I can quietly mark emotional growth without the narrative ever announcing it.

The character has stopped hiding behind the hypothetical fellow who has apparently been experiencing all his emotions for him.

Don’t Remove the Hedge. Make It Earn Its Keep.

Like most writing advice, “avoid hedging” is useful until we treat it as a law.

The goal isn't to purge every perhaps, seemed, almost, I suppose, or a man from a manuscript.

The goal should be intention.

If a hedge weakens the prose, cut it.

If it creates necessary uncertainty, keep it.

And if your emotionally constipated nineteenth-century widower would rather wrestle a bear than say, I am lonely and I think my wife is beautiful?

Let him have his a man.

For now.

The poor fellow is doing his best.

When You're Tired of Editing (And the Word “Like” Is Personally Offending You)

After deleting my fiftieth 'like,' I gave the manuscript a thumbs up.  It responded by hiding six more.

There comes a point in every manuscript where the story isn't the enemy anymore.  Mostly.

Instead the enemy becomes a new word.  In my case it was an abundance of the word "like."

You spot the word in every paragraph.  You remove one, only to find another hiding just two sentences later like it's playing some twisted game of literary whack-a-mole.  Before long you're staring at your document thinking, If I see this word one more time I'm gonna walk slowly into the sea.

Editing is an exhausting job because it is asking your brain to do something it doesn't want to do.  The creative side of you wants to tell a story.  The editor wants to interrogate every single comma as though it's committed some sort of tax fraud.

Eventually that all too familiar fatigue sets in.  Bonus points if it's accompanied by a dose of imposter syndrome.

So what is one supposed to do?

We can step away.

There are times the best edit is no edit at all.

Close that document, go make some tea or coffee, start a goose cult.

Stop summoning the dark void from the other dimension!  Don't lick it!  You're not my cat!

Your subconscious will still be plugging away while you're away.

Try changing the mission.

Instead of editing everything at once pick just one target.  For me it was hunting the word "like."  Hunt down one word today and something else tomorrow.  By the third day you're looking for repeated sentence structures.

Breaking edits into tiny little quests makes them feel less overwhelming and keeps your brain from trying to juggle twenty different things at once.

Read it out loud.

You might hate me for this one but I've done some research on it.  Nothing will reveal awkward prose than your own voice.  By talking it out you'll discover sentences that run on for half a page.  You'll find yourself tripping over repeated words.  You'll hear dialogue that sound suspiciously like two robots discussing tax policy.  If you can't comfortably read it aloud, then your readers probably won't glide through it either.

Accept some words belong there.

Not every instance is guilty or need removal.  Sometimes a comparison or dialogue is needed.  The goal isn't to eliminate a certain word from existence but to make every word earn its place.

Remember you're not failing.

Feeling tired or not being happy with your work doesn't mean that you're a bad writer.  It usually means you've been paying attention.

Professional writers have to go through dozens of passes.  Some may spend entire editing sessions fixing one tiny issue across hundreds of pages.

That's not failure.

It's craftsmanship and the stubborn refusal to give up.

Celebrate the victories.

Did you remove ten unnecessary words?

Great!

Did you rewrite one clunky paragraph until it stood up straight?

Go you!

Did you simply open the manuscript after wanting to avoid it all week?

That counts too.

Progress shouldn't be measured only in finished chapters or works completed.

Sometimes it's measured in one less filler word.

And if all else fails, remember this:  somewhere in your manuscript, another sneaky "like" is hiding behind a perfectly innocent sentence.  It's waiting to leap out the moment you believe you've found them all.

That little rascal.

Phyllis Wheatley was the first African American and enslaved person to publish a book of poetry.  No jokes here, her story is fascinating.

After watching the History Channel's miniseries Sons of Liberty I was drawn to the idea of writing an American Revolutionary War story.

Because of this I had to create some new characters to fit into that world.

Every story has a character who knows exactly what is going on.  In my Revolutionary War manuscript, that character is Miss Libby.

She's not the youngest person in the room and not the wealthiest.  She doesn't hold any political office, command soldiers, or deliver dramatic speeches.  Yet, she possesses the most wisdom.

Miss Libby has spent a lifetime observing people and understanding what many others don't: most problems begin long before anyone notices them.

Nathaniel, for example, may be good at rally round the flag and earn the respect of his community, but Miss Libby has known him since the day he was born.  She knows when he's worried, when he's stubborn, and when he'll make a decision he will later regret.

Which is unfortunate for Nathaniel.

He rarely gets away with anything.

One thing I like about writing Miss Libby is that she sees through people without judging them.  She recognizes Abigail's fears long before Abby has the courage to speak them out loud.  She understands Nathaniel's strengths and weaknesses.  She can spot trouble coming from half a county away.

And yet she remains remarkably patient...most of the time.

Miss Libby is the type of woman who history would over look due to her skin color, her gender, or her not being the loudest person in the room.  However, her influence is woven through every chapter, every conversation, and every life she touches.

History is full of people like that.

When we read about the past, we often focus on generals, politicians, and famous men.  (Dead White Male Syndrome as my college professor called it.)  Yet every family had someone who held things together behind the scenes.  Someone who offered advice, settled arguments, cared for children, preserved stories, and reminded people where they came from.

Those individuals rarely appear in history books but it doesn't make them any less important.

In many ways, Miss Libby serves as the heart of the story.  She provides perspective when emotions run high and common sense when everyone else is making life unnecessarily complicated.

A role she performs frequently.

Especially when Nathaniel is involved.

One of my favorite things about their relationship is that Nathaniel may be a grown man, a husband, and a respected Patriot, but Miss Libby remains completely unimpressed by all of it.  To the rest of the world, he is Nathaniel.  To Miss Libby, he is simply Nat.

And there is something wonderfully grounding about that.

No matter how much he accomplishes, no matter how many responsibilities he carries, there will always be someone who remembers the little boy underneath.

Miss Libby reminds me that wisdom is not always loud.  Sometimes it arrives with a knowing smile and a gentle piece of advice.  Other times it tells you exactly what you need to hear.  Other times  it spends years cleaning up after Nathaniel's decisions.