Getting Into Character: Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn From Actors (13 page)

I smiled. Andy
had
carried that look in his eye lately. I hoped I was reading him right. I was thirty-four already and so wanted to be his wife. Build my own real family—even though it would mean breaking up the pseudo one I’d gathered around me. Folks in town just knew Andy and I would be married before the year was out.

When you live in a town of twenty-five hundred, everyone assumes your business is theirs.

I drove out of the church’s parking lot and rolled down quiet Chester Avenue. Streetlights spilled over the tree-lined sidewalks. No one else in sight. Redbud always shuts itself up early. At Walton Street I went left, my house about a half mile away. One block over ran Main Street—the home of quaint shops and cafes. For a small town, Redbud had built quite a local reputation on its fancy-painted store fronts. Many from around the area came to browse through the town’s shops and dine in its homey restaurants.

Brewer approached. I turned onto it—and saw a shadow on the street. Faint, fleeting. Until it materialized again and went still, as if trying not to be seen. Washed pale by the umbra of a streetlamp, it looked like a man’s form, wearing a baseball cap, hands raised to his chest. Legs apart, as though ready to run.

A chill needled my bones.

I slowed the car. Slid my gaze left toward the source of the shadow. He stood by a front yard bush as tall as he, backlit by the house’s front porch light. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I felt them lock onto me.

A forever second ticked by.

He swiveled and ran toward the back of the house. Disappeared into the night. 

I braked to a stop. Peered into the darkness, looking for him.

He was gone.

Was this a robber? We had so little crime in our town. But this man was too out of place, too … raw. I was well acquainted with sudden trauma. Knew the feel, the smell of it. And this wasn’t right.

Lights were on in the house, a form moving behind closed blinds. I didn’t know who lived there. But maybe I should knock on their door, warn them—

My eye caught some … thing lying on the sidewalk three houses up.

The chill inside me crackled to ice. For the longest moment I could only stare at the object. How frighteningly familiar it looked. A silent scream wracked my head.
No, no, no!

But deep within I knew. Death had followed me.

Heart rattling, I surged my car up close to the form. The wash of my headlights confirmed the knowledge borne of my past. A body. Crumpled on its side, facing away from the street.

I veered to the curb and shoved my car into Park. Jumped out and threw myself on my knees beside the body—and recognized the bright blue shirt. My legs went weak.

Some say memory blurs when you’re shocked beyond belief. Not mine. I still remember every detail of that moment. The roughness of the sidewalk against my palms, the spill of Clara’s blonde hair, the way the fingers on her one hand curled inward. A cry formed in the back of my throat but couldn’t pass my clenched teeth.

The world started to go black. I fought the dizziness. Wrenched myself into a strength I didn’t feel.

With reluctant hands I pushed Clara onto her back, knowing I was too late. Her eyes were open, stunned. Unmoving. I grunted out her name, laid the backs of my fingers on both sides of her neck, seeking a pulse.

Nothing.

From the light of a street lamp I could see bruises on the front of her throat.

I threw back my head, sick to the core, the world again spinning. Grief and rage surged through my veins, nearly tipping me over. I struggled to steady myself. To think.

Help her! Give CPR!

But it was too late for that. And I shouldn’t stay here. A terrible and selfish thought, but there it was.

My wild eyes looked around and saw no one. But then I’d already seen the culprit, hadn’t I? The man standing in that yard, fading into darkness.

I drew an arm across my forehead—and my gaze snagged on a car some distance up the street. Clara’s. Sitting at the curb, driver’s door hanging open, no headlights on. Why had she gotten out of it here, and in such a hurry? Her house was across town. Had she turned off the lights? Or had her attacker done that?

Vaguely, then, I heard the sound. The engine was still running.

On some other plane, my legs pushed me up. I stumbled to my car. Thrashed about in my purse, seeking my cell phone. Yanked it out. Twice my finger hit 922, and I had to erase.

Then my hand froze.

What was I
doing
? I couldn’t call this in. No matter that I was innocent, had simply found Clara here. That everyone in town knew me as caring and loving.

I needed to drive away while there was still time. Let someone else find her.

My limbs shivered at the appalling idea. How dare I even think it? This was
Clara
. My good friend. So what if my carefully constructed world could come cracking apart? Wasn’t it enough that I hadn’t saved her? That I’d let her leave five minutes before me?

I could have stopped this.

Time staggered. Years of pain and fear and loneliness tumbled in my head. Still, despite all I’d lived through, no way could I run from this, leaving Clara here, silent and alone.

Tears came then, washing hot.

Trembling yet determined, my finger punched in the searing digits. Nine. One. One. Blurry-eyed and stricken, I clutched the phone to my ear.

As the number began to ring I prayed for Clara’s family, then begged God to protect me in this. To save me.

But I’d prayed that before, years ago. Little good it had done.

Exploration Points

1.
In this novel’s opening scene, how is Delanie’s Desire set up?

Before I began this novel I knew Delanie had a terrible secret—one that would ruin the life she’d created for herself if anyone found out. Through Personalizing I’d also discovered her inner values. One value was: “Justice for all.” This meant the guilty should be punished, and the innocent should remain free. Another one, equally critical: “Family is very important.” And still another: “Everyone deserves to be treated with caring and respect—unless their actions prove they don’t deserve it.”

Delanie’s goal in her normal world was to protect her secret at all costs (and it was costing her plenty) so she could marry Andy and have the family she always wanted.

Soon into the chapter the inciting incident occurs: Delanie finds Clara’s body. At this point the emotions of Delanie’s past rush her. The various inner values fight with each other—and with her goal of keeping her secret. She wants to tend Clara and do the right thing by calling 911, but knows she shouldn’t be seen with the body. (The reader is not told why at this point.) Ultimately her caring inner value kicks in, and at great potential cost to herself, she calls the number.

Delanie’s Desire is now in place: “To help find who killed my good friend while still protecting my secret so I can marry Andy and have the family I’ve always wanted.” The various parts of that Desire set up the novel’s conflicts as they begin to war with each other. For example, what will she do when forced to choose between protecting her secret and seeking justice in this case?

2.
How are bits of backstory about Delanie’s past added into the chapter without stopping the action? How do these pieces of information add to the tension?

A note about backstory: it should be given in pieces, and each piece should raise more questions than it answers. Far too often authors think they have to answer a question about a character right away. But questions keep readers turning pages. Don’t answer them until you absolutely have to. In fact much of the novel may be about answering questions regarding a character’s past. This is the case in
Sidetracked
.

In order to let the reader know Delanie is putting herself in danger by tending to Clara, I dropped in small hints of her terrible past—and the fact that she must keep it secret. This first hint that something will go terribly wrong is in the first sentence:
In the beginning comes the end.
(Information given—something important to Delanie is going to end. Questions raised: what is it? Why?) The second is in the third paragraph:
Spring was my favorite season. Once
. Questions raised: Why isn’t it anymore? What happened?

Other pieces of backstory are scattered throughout. Take another look at this paragraph:

Was this a robber? We had so little crime in our town. But this man was too out of place, too … raw. I was well acquainted with sudden trauma. Knew the feel, the smell of it. And this wasn’t right.

Notice how bits of Delanie’s past are dropped in—without stopping the action. In fact they act as fuel for her next response.

Look for the remaining bits of backstory in the chapter. Note how they’re woven into the action. Note the information they provide—and the further questions they raise. How do all these things work together to provide a “hook” for the chapter’s ending?

3.
Study the first chapter in your novel
.

Does it present your protagonist in his normal world, then move to the inciting incident? Does that inciting incident set up a propelling Desire within your character—one with high enough stakes to create a strong story? Does the end of the chapter have a good hook, fueled by questions that arise from the action and from pieces of backstory? Have you stopped the action anywhere to add backstory?

Moving On

With Personalizing and the determination of your character’s Desire and Action Objectives in place, we look now to a technique dealing with dialogue. How can you write naturally sounding dialogue that arises from your character’s Desire and Action Objectives? The answer lies in Secret #3, Subtexting.

SECRET #3

Subtexting

ACTOR’S TECHNIQUE: