When the writing is this easy
My husband at Fountains Abbey, Yorkshire, in October 2019. This doesn't have much to do with the post, but was the photo on my screensaver when I sat down to write this post.
Deep Space Nine and character development mattering more than plot. As well as a way to process what seems like a plethora of extended family illnesses. 'Nuff said....
So I'm writing about Suze and family in Jumpville. This is the second of four short stories/novellas in what will be Book Five of The Enran Chronicles. I had some plot ideas, but what seems to be foremost is character development. And that matters, as I've moved their timeline up twenty-eight years, ahem.
But what else I've found is something I heard while watching the DS9 documentary What We Left Behind: Looking Back at Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. The writers were discussing a particular episode, and I tend to associate it with "In Purgatory's Shadow", as well as its conclusion "By Inferno's Light", in that plots were designed to further character development. Which is a very concise manner to explain what they were talking about, but yeah. Fight scenes and ships exploding and wild looking aliens were only meant for us viewers to better understand those aliens' and humanoids' inner workings.
Which is a fascinating concept, but if you've watched DS9, you'll know how marvelous are those characters and how well written are the shows. And how fabulous it was they expanded their horizons by including so many recurring characters, WOW!
In writing this spinoff of Home and Far Away, I've introduced new characters, who definitely needed their backstories explained. I've also returned to Richard, Suze, Gilly, and Chella, Dr. Kevin Whitlow too. Twenty-eight years is a LONG time for any of us, and today I wrote mostly in Gilly's voice, which has only been in my mind for about ten days. Nine days ago I wrote a post about what happened to Gilly, or how this author was graced to create her young adult life. This morning I got to put all those thoughts into practice, then I turned my attention back to Gilly's dad Richard. Because lately in my personal sphere many beloveds have been beset by various health issues, and after I wrote the scene below, I had to admit how non-fictional living is affecting the fictional writing.
Plus the whole DS9 aspect, and WHOA! Sometimes writing is more than typing ideas onto paper. Because right now the writing is SO EASY. Not TOO EASY, but very easy, and much of that is to do with putting not only my head into it, but my heart and soul. As though with every paragraph, each sentence, I'm trying to heal those I love, those connected to me through others, those for whom there are no easy routes. Like for Hugh. Today Hugh got a reprieve. Tomorrow? I won't know until I sit at this very computer in the morning.
For tonight, here's an excerpt of love. Of hope, of a father's determination to bring back a child from.... From wherever Hugh had been. Not another galaxy or even the grave. But certainly from peril. And that's what I know for this evening. Gratitude for how effortless is the writing, at times. And for all the grace that goes with this life.
Wishing to roll his eyes, Hugh said a prayer. Then he cleared his throat, wondering if he was also doing that in the physical. Grips upon his fingers became stronger, and he coughed, then tears fell down his face, no hurdles in front of him, and the blue was changing to white, a yellowish-gold white. Hugh, Hugh, can you hear me?
Mom, Mom?
He’s coming round, Suze announced.
Hugh wasn’t sure if she said that internally or to all in the room. I’m here, I’m uh, my knees hurt. Am I bleeding?
You’re not bleeding honey. Gilly, give him space.
Gilly released Hugh’s hand, then he grimaced. Somebody help me, pull me over, get me outta here!
You must do this yourself.
Hugh couldn’t discern exactly which of his beloveds said that, or was it that other voice, harping about the color blue. Blue had never been his favorite color, he liked green. Which was kind of blue, he then realized, as a hand aged but stronger than any other now gripped his fingers.
“Dad?” Hugh mumbled in what to all in that room was the faintest of sounds.
Come back to us, Richard said to only his son. “I’m right here Hugh,” Richard then said aloud.
“Dad?”
“I’ve got you Hugh. I’ve got you son.”
Hugh felt to weigh a million pounds for how hard Richard had to gently tug on Hugh’s hand and not wrench Hugh’s arm from the socket. Yet Richard Lund was as tender a man, of a father, as ever there was. Hugh knew that from all his memories, keenly displayed in his mind as Richard again hoisted Hugh over his shoulder, freeing his youngest child from a mire of…. Hugh wasn’t sure where he’d been, but he was damned certain that at the earliest possible moment, he’d be out of this deathtrap and back home. Not upstairs in his room, but in the front room, and if he needed to be taken up for more than a sponge bath, Greg would carry him.
As Hugh opened his eyes, he scanned faces mattering not quite the most, because Chella was missing. He told her Thank you for all her prayers, making her cry, then he gazed at his father. Hoping Careen understood, Hugh had to first thank his dad. “I love you,” Hugh mumbled.
Richard smiled, not wiping the tears collected along his aged face. “I love you too, son.”
Hugh tried to nod, wasn’t sure if he’d done it. Very slowly he then gazed at Careen. Tears streamed down her cheeks, Suze behind her. That’s why she sounded so coherent, he said to his mother as he then coughed in a ragged manner. “Thanks baby,” he sputtered.
Careen nodded, then carefully lifted his hand to her lips, kissing it. The IV was the reason for her caution, but Hugh wished she’d ripped it out. “Get me outta here,” he said to the rest, imploring them with even more force in a silent but astute tone.
“As soon as we can,” Greg said from what sounded like the foot of the bed.
“On it,” Richard chuckled, tears despite his grateful mirth.
“But I just got here,” Gilly giggled, wiping her wet face.
