Morag

Morag gasped as her feet slipped on the seaweed-strewn rocks – she couldn’t fall now! But any sense of relief that she might have felt on gaining the safety of the sand was instantly swept from her mind by the impossibility of her task. She could feel the sting of grit on her eyelids, grind it in her teeth as she panted against the force of the wind that tangled her legs in her wet skirts and whipped her plaid about her head so that she had to cling to keep it. Inside her head she could hear her mother-in-law’s dismissive voice: “There’s no good a wee lassie like you going out in all the weather to look. It’s a man’s job. Away now, and mind the bairn.”

The wind howled and she howled her defiance back. Lachie was somewhere out there in the boat – she couldn’t sit over the fire and wait passively. The awful wailing emptiness threatened to engulf her – out in the storm there was at least a way to fight back. Stinging eyes and ice-burnt fingertips kept the fear-monster at  bay, though she knew it would come roaring back the minute it could. Anger was the key now: Why did he go out in the boat today? She told him not to! Never mind what his bloody father said… was he going to provide for her and the bairn when her man was lost at sea? One thing for sure, when Lachie was back they were going to find a place of their own. She didn’t care if it was a hovel, she wasn’t living with his bloody parents any longer.

She gasped again as the sea swept round her ankles, swirling and tugging, the sand hollowing beneath her feet as she fought to keep her balance.

Heightening observations

What more do I know about Hilary?

Self-effacing in public, there's nonetheless an inner, steely core: she makes herself do things she doesn't want to so that there's always a tension between the outward appearance - mousy, retiring, pale - and the will that drives her. The same will that allows her no quarter over what could so easily lapse into agoraphobia pushes her to ignore her poor health, so that she always reaches home gasping with exhaustion, weak-kneed and shaking.

That same tension is reflected in her dress - drab to extreme in her outer layers, yet there is always a splash of colour somewhere, a talisman to keep up her resolve. A jewel-like peacock scarf, a waistcoat of many colours, even a trim of coloured lace on a petticoat, all offer armour in her battle against complete effacement.

Questions:

Is there an opportunity to add the thoughts of your character? Can you situate your character in relation to a particular location?

Yes, this will develop as Hilary is placed against her background.

Does what your character says in their dialogue tally with what they think, or is there a discrepancy?

No, there will always be some degree of discrepancy because of the tension I've already described. What Hilary will say and how she will act will often be at odds with each other.

Can you smuggle in some details about your character’s back story, their life prior to when we meet them?

That will depend - at the moment I like that her back story is something of a mystery.

Can you try to infer how your character acts in the world – for instance, are they overwhelmed or in some sense out of control (like Spicer in the Greene extract) or are they hapless (like Victor in the Atkinson extract)?

One of the things that interests me about Hilary is that she is both in control and not. Some circumstances, like her health, are at least partly beyond her control. For instance, she is dependent on her medication, and takes it methodically, although she will often arrive home at the last possible moment to take it, staying out as long as she can because otherwise it is controlling her.

Second exercise: imagining characters

Exercise 2 was about imagining characters. We were asked to write a piece of 200 words or less concentrating on a description. Later it was suggested that we think about whether we'd chosen 1st or 3rd person, and it seemed to make sense to repeat the exercise using the other voice.

At first I thought all I could do was add a name to version 1: "There was one of the women at the book club that Lesley found oddly compelling...". Re-writing it from Hilary's POV was much more fun than I expected.

1.

There was one of the women at the book club I found oddly compelling. Tall and slender, she nonetheless seemed to hold herself in at all times, as though free movement was something denied her. Before the discussion started her eyes would remain lowered; even when speaking she’d avoid meeting your eyes, her voice low and diffident. As the weeks went by I realised that her pallor always increased during the course of the evening, leaving her looking tired and drawn, so that I began to wonder about her health. Yet the constraint in her gestures, her apologetic tone, seemed somehow at odds with the way she dressed – there was the impression of pleasure in colour, a disregard of convention. I thought I saw her one evening at the theatre wearing trousers of the richest magenta – was it really her? I looked for her in the crowds leaving the auditorium, eager to learn more, but she’d gone before I reached the foyer. The next week I looked in vain for her at the book club.

2.

Hilary hesitated in the doorway at the community centre; perhaps joining a book club wasn’t such a good idea after all? After all, she might have to leave early – her medication was due, without fail, at 9pm, so she’d never be able to stay on late, chatting, the way she was sure many members would do. Steeling herself, she sidled in in her usual, diffident way, the movement at complete odds with the effort of will it took her to make it. Carefully leaving two chairs’ space between her and her neighbour, she sat down and gazed at the floor, waiting for her turn to introduce herself – when it came she said just the one word, gruffly, just her name. The room was warm, so she slid out of her brown wool coat, carefully tucking her peacock-blue scarf into one sleeve for safety. Maybe next week she wouldn’t come back, she thought.

First exercise

The exercise was to write two short paragraphs, one containing one fact and three fictions, the other one fiction and three facts:

1.
Horrors, my first job interview in twenty-one years! Wracked with nerves for days in advance, I debated about what to wear and how to present myself. Anxious not to look my age I spent money I didn't have writhing with misery in the hairdressers while my grey hair returned to the blonde of my youth. Now, successful in my deceptions, I am asking myself, do I really want to be a shop assistant?

2.
Last night, sleepless again, I went through the usual rituals: trying to turn my thoughts way from the distracting yammering, fetching a drink, listening to several chapters of Persuasion, turning the pillow for a fresh cool spot. Each time I dozed, I woke again. Finally, despairing, I got up and went outside to listen to the night.

Start writing fiction

This blog is my writing associated with the Start Writing Fiction MOOC run by the Open University. Some of it will be Very Dull Indeed, so I suggest you don't read it unless you have to! The blog is really intended as a place to share stuff with fellow participants in the course.