A to Z Challenge: F is for Forgiveness

Welcome to the 2013 A to Z Challenge!

This year, I’m focusing on two themes:  Emotions and grammar,

depending on which letter we’re on each day.

I’ll be sharing mostly what I’ve learned about writing emotion into a novel, but I’ll also be throwing in a few key grammar lessons, pet peeves I’ve picked up while working as an editor.

Today’s an emotion day!

__________

F is for forgiveness:  the act of giving pardon for or remission of an offense or debt; to absolve.

I was going to take the easy way out today and discuss the emotion of fear, but when I completed my first novel, The Mistaken, a strong and undeniable theme emerged, and that theme was forgiveness.  Seems I have a real issue with it, having quite a few people in my life who’ve hurt me in unspeakable ways.  And I’ve had to deal with not being forgiven myself, something which has plagued me for over twenty-eight years.  So I think I have a keen understanding of it.

It’s not an easily believable emotion to write about.  Forgiveness is something that typically comes slowly, over a relatively extended period of time.  In my novel, the protagonist cannot come to terms with the egregious consequences a stranger’s reckless act has had upon his life—the death of his pregnant wife.  He spends a great deal of time conspiring to get even.  He doesn’t begin to heal until he realizes that many of the consequences he’s suffered are due to his own shortcomings, but by that point, it’s too late, and he’s set into motion a horrifying chain of events.

And that, it seems, is the key to forgiveness, to understand not only what instigated the perpetrator to offend, but that she, the offender, is like anybody else, and, most especially, that she is like us.  So writing about forgiveness must include the entire process:  knowing all the facts and how they unfolded, understanding the motivation behind it, and acknowledging the victim's own culpability. 

This doesn’t happen easily or quickly.  People must be allowed their anger and resentment first.  Then they can be made to see that things are not always as they appear, or are as simple as black and white.  When the victim can see the enemy as human, with all the frailties that encompasses, only then can he forgive.  There must be an earnest sensitivity to the very offense she committed, as well as the offender, and her victim.  Otherwise, the act of forgiving feels far-fetched and unbelievable.

  

The act of forgiveness, or his inability to do so, often reveals qualities about the character, his substance, his deficiencies, his level of sincerity, and authenticity, all things the character must eventually be attuned to himself before he can ever move forward.  

A to Z Challenge: U is for Unforgivable

Welcome to Day 21 of the 2012 A to Z Challenge

U is for Unforgivable:  [the inability] to grant pardon for or remission of an offense.    (Dictionary.com)

If you’ve followed this blog at all, especially in recent months, then you know my book is all about forgiveness.  Though I recently took the absolute worst part of my protagonist’s offense out as terms of my publishing deal, what remains is still mighty abhorrent.  The main character in The Mistaken commits a reprehensible act in retribution for the death of his pregnant wife.  But it’s not until after he has mistakenly exacted his vengeance against an innocent woman that he realizes just how far he has fallen from the honorable man he used to be, before grief, rage, and alcohol transformed him.  Afterwards, he realizes he must find a way to atone for his shameful sins. 

All along—since the very inception of the idea for this book—I’ve been searching for answers.  You hear all the time on the news about some ordinary, upstanding guy who, for whatever reason, commits an unspeakable crime, something that all his friends and family say is completely against his nature.  He couldn’t have done it.  They just don’t believe it.  George Zimmerman and the killing of Trayvon Martin comes to mind. 

So what makes a man (or woman) commit a heinous act, especially a good man, an honorable man who holds to the very letter of the law?  That is why I wrote The Mistaken.  All along, I wanted to show that a good man could be turned into a monster yet somehow find his back to the man he used to be, or a semblance thereof, anyway.  I wanted to show that the unforgivable could actually be forgiven. 

Most readers are pretty forgiving, though they do want someone to believe in, someone they can understand and associate with, so giving them a protagonist who commits an egregious act is risky, at best, and just plain crazy, at worst.  And though I did compromise slightly by taking out his most heinous offense, what he does is still pretty deplorable.  But I don’t think there is anything that is truly unforgivable.  Humans are complex, ruled not only by their hearts and emotions, but also by their circumstances.  Who’s to say they wouldn’t do something in the intense heat of the moment?  When their life, health, or happiness, or that of their loved ones, was at great risk?   Sure, we’d like to think, after years of conditioning, that we would never cross the line, but the truth is, it happens everyday, all over the world.  It could happen.  There is always that possibility.  We are human, and therefore fallible.  And then there’s that whole whoever-is-without-sin, cast-the-first-stone argument.  In addition, I’ll throw in the one about walking-in-their-shoes, because you just never know.  So it’s comforting to believe that forgiveness—even for what seems to be the most unforgivable—is possible                     

What do you think?  Could you cheer on a protagonist who is so flawed and damaged that he could commit the seemingly unforgivable?  Do you truly believe in redemption for those most in need of it?  

IWSG: Dealing With Rejection

It’s the first Wednesday of the month:  time to meet with my fellow writers in

Alex J. Cavanaugh’s Insecure Witer’s Support Group

I’m beginning to feel like a real, honest-to-God writer these days.  And do you know why?  The answer is:  Rejection.  No writer worth her salts could ever call herself so without receiving an array of rejections for her work.  And I’ve received quite a few.  At first it was just rejections of my query, but then, after receiving a good number of requests, it’s become a rejection of those, too. 

The first time I had my full manuscript rejected, it nearly destroyed me.  I have to laugh about it now because I took it to the chin, and rather hard, too.  I spent that first evening commiserating with my new friend, Silver Patron.  Sure, he made me laugh and even forget for a while, but I vowed we wouldn’t see each other again until I somehow managed to snag an agent.  That was nearly a year ago, and I’ve kept my promise, though it hasn’t always been easy.  But one thing rejection has done for me is make me tough.  I barely even feel it now.

This has come in handy in the last few weeks.  After waiting over six months, I finally heard back from an agent who politely and respectfully said no to my full.  That was followed immediately by another of the same.  Well, almost the same.  It wasn’t an agent this time, but rather an editor who had read my first fifty pages, and three days later, quite excitedly I might add, requested my full, making sure to inform me how much she and her team were enjoying my story.

I took that request and the excitement that accompanied it with a huge grain of salt.  The publisher was brand-spanking new and published mostly romance, but they were looking for thrillers and mine had them all worked up.  The great part was that she didn’t make me wait.  I heard back in less than two weeks.  But you already know how this story ends.  She told me I definitely had a talent for writing and that making the final decision about my manuscript was truly a hard one for them, but in the end, it wasn’t a good fit. 

She’s promised to go over with me all the deciding factors in a detailed email, but it came down to what I’ve always known would be a difficult sell:  My story is just too provocative.  

Now, some might think this is a good thing, but, as I’ve written here before, my lead male character, who falls into unbearable depression following the violent death of his wife, does something shamefully contemptible, and, as we all know, in fiction, the truly despicable things are left to the bad guy, not the good.  But, at least for me, life is not simple shades of black and white.  There are variables of grey to both sides of the coin.  True, my character is flawed, but the entire message, the very theme of the story, is forgiveness.  So while I am excited to read what the editor thinks will help make my story more marketable, I’m not sure how far I’m willing to go to make it so, even though she said she’s willing to reread it afterwards. 

Yes, I am all for compromise, but, as my best friend, writing soul mate, and most awesome critique partner, Lisa L. Regan, has said numerous times, the character cannot fully appreciate or realize just how far he’s fallen—how far removed he is from the man he used to be—until he crosses completely over to the dark side.  And he cannot do that without doing that “terrible awful thing” no matter how terrible awful it is.  And believe me, it is.  It’s terrible awful

 

But this is a story of hard-fought redemption, and I didn’t start off making him a bad guy.  Like I said, he’s flawed, but his flaw is that, in his quest of lawful duty, he doesn’t actually see his flaw.  He thinks he’s always right, always on track, always perfect.  So to fall so far from grace is unendurable for him.  And while he’s desperately fighting the bad guys to save the woman he’s wounded and jeopardized, he’s also battling the internal demons he’s unleashed within himself.  

How do I compromise on that?

So anyway, now I know, rejections won’t kill me.  They don’t bowl me over anymore.  I barely feel them.  But it’s not so much that I’m scarred and therefore tougher.  It’s more like I believe in my story.  I trust its message.  It may be too provocative for agents and publishers of commercial fiction at the moment.  Hell, it might be too provocative for future audiences, too, but, having gone through a similar experience, writing this story was cathartic and has taught me exactly what I’m trying to express in the story:  to forgive.  

And I just can’t compromise on that, because the integrity of that message is much more important than the marketability of the story.     

             

When a Character Does the Unforgivable

Thank you to all those who sent prayers and good wishes my way last week.  They must have worked; my first biopsy came back benign.  I feel very blessed.  One more to go then I’ll be free and clear.  Right now, I’d like to get onto more serious writerly endeavors.  With all the upset and turmoil in my life lately, I fear I’ve let my blogging duties fall by the wayside.  This is my lame attempt at making up for that.

I recently received a critique from a fellow writer, someone I admire and respect for his mad writing skillz.  He gave me a great deal of feedback, and I’ve been busy making revisions based on his recommendations.  I am actually shocked what he was able to pull out of me.

About one third of the way through my manuscript, after my male protagonist does a very, very bad thing, my critique partner commented that it would be very difficult for him to feel sympathy for that character any longer, that although he sees how circumstances pushed him towards his actions, it just might be too much and he might not ever like him again.  But was willing to read on and see.

I’m glad he was willing, and I assured him I did my best to change the reader’s mind.  In the end, he said that I managed to pull it off after all, that he did come to care for the main character, that he wanted to see him atone for his sins, and he did.  Congratulations, he said. 

Whew!  What a relief!  But even after all the praise he gave me throughout, I’m still worried, because what if an agent reads through that part then gives up?  What if he or she is not willing, does not believe I can make the character atone and redeem himself?  I mean, that’s the whole trick of the book, the reason I wrote in the first place. 

Now, my writing is in no way eloquent like my last CP.  I don’t lay claim to that particular skill.  But what I do think I did, and reasonably well, is take the reader on a crazy wild ride through turmoil and bedlam.  I made my champion suffer then turned him into an anti-hero and raked him over the coals for it.  Then I forced him to atone for the most unforgivable of sins.  The theme of my novel is forgiveness, after all.  But the reader will never know that unless he or she has the patience to see it through.

I did all those things you’re supposed to do to your MC:  I made him human, imperfect with a huge chip on his shoulder.  I gave him loads of room to change, balancing his strength and humility, turned his affliction into integrity, made him strive for the impossible, brought his compelling struggle to satisfaction though not completely resolved.  He is dark.  He is troubled. And he is seriously flawed.  But is he too self-destructive to garner sympathy?  Does he step over a line for which there is no absolution? 

I wrote this novel from a particularly personal point of view:  Mine.  I can’t say that others would ever be able to forgive the unforgivable, but I wanted to show it’s possible.  I hope I have that chance. 

Have you ever read a novel where the main character steps way over the line?  Were you patient enough to see it through to the end or were you too disgusted to continue?  

            

My Thoughts on Writing vs. Publishing

            Last Friday in her blog, literary agent Rachelle Gardner pondered the link between the desire to write and that of being published commercially.  It was followed by an interesting question:  Are the two inseparably connected in the writer’s mind and if they are not, how do you know you should keep writing if you do not intend on seeking publication?  Like many of her awesome posts, it was followed by many comments, but in this case, nearly one hundred readers chimed in on exactly why they write. 

            Some of my readers may already have read my post from a month ago where I explained exactly why I write, but Ms. Gardner brought up a very interesting correlation and I wondered if other writers were as pulled toward publication as I was.  First of all, when I started writing my novel, The Mistaken, I never even considered the publishing end of it.  I just woke up with a story rattling around in my head.  It came to me after hearing a song.  The lyrics made me wonder what would drive a good man to do something really terrible, something completely out of character, and could he ever find his way back to the man he used to be. When I linked the possibilities to certain experiences in my own life, I tried to answer that question with a scenario and bam!—a novel was born. 

            Unlike many—or even most—writers, I suspect, I have not spent my life with the desire to write.  I don’t have drawers full of stories and characters and made-up worlds.  That is to say, while I do love to write, I was never compelled to write before I started all this.  And while I was writing my novel, my only goal was to get the story down and enjoy the creative process. 

You see, I’m a creative person.  My job—the one that helps pay the bills—is to create beautiful spaces for people to live or work in.  But when the economy took a big old dump on the building industry, my pipeline to creativity all but dried up.  It’s slowly coming back to life, but the last three plus years have been a drought with little opportunity for me to create though the need to do so remained firmly in place.  For the first two years, I used cooking and baking as an outlet, but that only took me so far.  With nowhere else to go, my creativity unleashed itself in my desire to tell a story.  And so I did exactly that. 

But normally, when I help create a beautiful, functional space for people to live or work in—or to help builders sell an idea of a lifestyle—the end product is used and enjoyed.  It serves a purpose.  And I know that someone is enjoying what I slaved over for days, weeks or months.  There is a great deal of satisfaction in the end use of my product.  But what about writing?  What is the end use of what I created, of what I’ve written?  Well, of course, the end use is reading it.  And while I do get some satisfaction reading my own words, I would garner much more if others were to read it, as well, hence my desire to be published.

            Now, that’s not to say that writing doesn’t serve a purpose if it is not read by someone else other than the author.  There were a plethora of valid reasons given by Ms. Gardner’s many commenters.  Some said writing made them a better person or that they just liked to do it, while others—many, in fact—refer to writing as a calling they cannot ignore, that it gives them a sense of fulfillment they cannot find in any other way.  For some it is simply a creation of art, an expressive outlet for their sole benefit.  Still others referred to it as a means of self-exploration and a few of those even used writing as a way to deal with their inner demons and release their frustrations while avoiding professional counseling.  I can relate to this last group.  My own demons figured substantially into my story. 

            But a great many writers expressed the sentiment that “words are worthless if not read.”  One even equated writing without ever being read to cooking a feast only to be thrown away before it was eaten.  Another said it was like creating a piece of art that no one will ever look at and what’s the point then if nobody else will ever see it?  He said he “could not separate the writing from the need to have it examined.”  I’m definitely with that guy.  I’m not saying I need people to gush over my work, though I do hope people enjoy it.  And while it would be great to actually make some money, I don’t even consider that element in my reasons for seeking publication.  Neither do I need to see my name in lights, so to speak, to have my nom de plume splashed across fancy cover art.  I just want an outlet for others to read my words.  I want others to get some enjoyment out of the story, to be thrilled for a few hours over a few days time.  I even think the theme of my book—forgiveness—might benefit some in a way. 

            I know there will be many people who do not like my story, who think it is too violent, or improbable, that a good man would never be compelled toward vengeance, to be so driven by personal demons as to commit a violent act, especially rape, if it was not in his character.  But I can tell you personally that is not true.  I even think it’s possible to find redemption afterwards.  My need to express these issues coerced me to write my story.  My desire to tell the story somehow makes sense of certain life experiences.  And while I have battled my own demons and won in the best way possible, the need to have others recognize the fight as worthy is undeniable. 

In my comment on Ms. Gardner’s post, I equated the experience of writing a book and wanting to see it published to pregnancy and childbirth. You spend months—maybe even years—growing this germ of an idea into something that has shape, something that has life, something that has a name, an identity.  Then you labor over bringing it into the world, crying over the pain it causes you.  The urge to bring it to publication is very much like that urge to push.  Undeniable.  Useless to fight against.  Because you want everyone to see just how beautiful your baby is, how much time and work and effort you’ve put into it.  You want to hold it in your hands and smile as you present it to the whole wide world.  This is my creation.  My baby.  It was hard.  But it was so worth every tear.  Every extra pound.  Every frustration.  So, please, come take a look!

To me, publication is more than just validation that a writer can actually write words that someone else wants to read.  It’s having a voice.  It’s a platform—widely accepted and utilized—where an author can say, “This is what’s important to me and this is what I have to say about it.”  It’s a documentation of our personal history, whether fiction or not, a way to process our life, our experiences, our world, and hopefully give others enjoyment or enlightenment at the same time.  It’s a way to share and bond and live again.  But you have to put it out there first, as scary as that may be. And it is really, really scary, especially when there is so much rejection along the way. 

           I may never be traditionally published.  In fact, chances are, I never will be with the way the publishing industry is changing.  But I also find value in the pursuit.  It’s a dream that pushes me out of bed every day.  It gives me purpose.  And I may be discouraged on my road to publication, but I will never, ever give up.

Finding My Book's Theme: Forgiveness

When I was reading Stephen King’s “On Writing” last month, I came across a passage on “thematic thinking” and it prompted me to contemplate my own work, to discover what exactly the theme of “The Mistaken” really is.  When I started writing it, I asked myself one fundamental question, “Could a genuinely good man be driven to do something truly evil and somehow find his way back to the man he once was?”  I certainly hope my story is believable.  I charted the man’s path and man him struggle with some pretty significant problems, but in the end, it all came down to one thing:  forgiveness.

Since I was first thrown on my journey, and by that I mean since I started this whole “I think I’ll write a book” thing, I’ve wondered why I ever thought to do it in the first place.  I’ve stated in earlier blog posts that this whole experience was extraordinarily surreal, that I’ve felt possessed by some force outside myself to write this story.  It was as if someone stood over my shoulder and whispered in my ear everyday exactly what I should be writing.  Because I certainly could never have come up with this stuff on my own, right?  Where did it come from?  I simply woke up one morning and the story was just there.  But why?  Why all of the sudden was it “just there”?

I’ve thought about that nearly every day since I first started writing because it feels like this is something I am supposed to do.  Am I supposed to do it to share a message?  Was I sent on this path to accomplish something personal?  Or perhaps I was meant to meet someone in particular?  Because I have met a few remarkable folks along the way, most notably my friend, Lisa.  She is what has stuck with me most on my journey.

I met Lisa Regan while searching for critique partners in Nathan Bransford’s blog forum.  Along with a few others, she responded to my post and a relationship was born.  She took me down paths I never would have otherwise even seen, prompting me to truly express myself, to become a better writer.  But more than anything else, she became my greatest confidant.  I consider her a great blessing, a truly wonderful friend.  Was I supposed to meet her?  Is that why I was hurled on this journey?  That would be fine with me, even if nothing else ever came of my writing this book, but I still can’t help but think there is something more to it.  I’d like to think that I was simply meant to write this novel.  Period.  But I wonder.  Is it the message itself that was supposed to reveal itself to me?

Twenty-six plus years ago, I had a child, a beautiful baby girl.  I wanted nothing more than to keep her, but circumstances, such as they were, worked against me and my parents, my father mostly, pushed me into adoption.  Because I was the ever-obedient daughter—or trying to be anyway—I went along with the idea, though it had to be on my own terms.  After an exhaustive search, I chose who her parents would be.  And after all these years, she seems to have blossomed into a wonderful young woman, currently serving in the Peace Corps in Thailand.  I try to believe I made the right choice, at least for her.  But down deep inside—subconsciously, at least—I hold a tremendous amount of anger and resentment toward my father.  I know this because in twenty-six years, I have never had one nice dream about him.  Every one is filled with anger and resentment even though I love my father dearly.  It’s never affected my relationship with him, but it’s there nonetheless. 

So, after reading Stephen King’s book, I began to ponder on the theme on my own book.  Forgiveness.  My whole story hinges on that element.  Skylar Karras, the protagonist, simply cannot move forward and get on with his life unless he learns to forgive, both others who have affected his life, and more importantly, himself.  I never meant to write a novel with a theme and I never even saw the theme revealing itself to me, even as I was actually writing it.  Lisa Regan somehow pulled that out of me by asking me to explain a few points that bothered her.  And viola!   There it was, the whole message of my book. 

Now I am wondering if that is the message on my journey, as well.  Is this what I am supposed to take away from this extraordinary experience?  Am I supposed to forgive my father so I can move on with my own life as far as my own daughter is concerned, so that I can truly love my dad like a daughter is supposed to?  I am crying here as I write this because I just don’t know.  I don’t know if that is what I am supposed to take away from this.  And I don’t know if I can actually do that, forgive on a subconscious level.  I want to, desperately so.  Because like my dear Skylar, I need to move on. 

I still want to believe that I was meant to write this story so that it may be published.  It is the greatest dream I hold for myself.  I want to do this in the traditional way, even though the publishing industry is in such a tremednous transition that it seems downright impossible.  Even finding an agent sometimes seems futile, especially after reading all the horror stories out there of un-agented writers still querying after many, many years. 

I am trying to follow the path I believe God has sent me down.  I swear I can feel His hand at my back sometimes.  I am trying to keep the faith, to believe in myself.  And I am trying to find my way and forgive the one thing that still burns in my heart after twenty-six years, three months and twelve days.