Miss Demeanors

 I love describing ‘the scene.’ The quality of the air, the view, the buildings, the landscape. I can even conjure up a variety of words for the color of snow. It is smell that sometimes stumps me. And I know how important smell is – the sense that evokes our most vivid memories, able to awaken feelings long buried and place us immediately back in time.   Recently I’ve been touring various distilleries – all part of research! There are many distinctive smells at a large distillery, including the scent of bourbon rising up through the halls of the warehouses. It occurred to me that I feel comfortable describing something as scented with bourbon. But I’m not as sure about the scent of sour mash…. that fermenting smell that fills the other parts of the distillery complex. Can I rely on people knowing what this is, like the scent of the ocean, or freshly cut grass? How much description do we need for smell, or do we have a common store of olfactory knowledge that spans most human experience?  

 Authors think about names a lot. Does the name best represent the character? Does the character bend toward the name or does the name follow from the character?  Names signify gender, ethnicity, social and economic class. A name may suggest background without having to say it – is the character a Russian woman living in the US, or were her parents Russian, or did they simply love a Russian name?   My last name means ‘of Rooster.’ The blend of de with Hahn indicates that at some point a German name was given a French veneer (de in place of von). It would likely be impossible for anyone to realize that the German name is really from the Baltic States. In fact the name tells a story of a Baltic German who had a son born in a French speaking country. In the 20th century you might intuit the impact of a world war. And you’d be right. The Dublin airport currently has an exhibit of portraits blended with elements representing the person’s name. It reminds me how literally a name reflects a person.   What does your name say about you? And what about the names of favorite fictional characters?   

I did a speaking event this week which got me thinking about my days as a theater kid in high school. Back then I was taught to play to the back row, where folks wouldn’t be able to hear as well. One drama went so far as to walk us through imagining a particular audience member who’s hard of hearing, creating a backstory for the character. I’m wondering if any of you have an imaginary reader in mind while writing or promoting your books? Is that typical?
 Paula: I have a friend I always think of my audience. I’ve known her for more than 30 years, and while she’s not a writer, she is a voracious reader across many genres. I know the kind of story she likes, the kind of reading experience that she most enjoys. I think of her as the personification of my ideal reader, so when I feel lost in a story (as I often do), I ask myself if I’d be boring Sandy about now. And what I need to do to keep her turning the pages. Susan: One of the most difficult things about teaching adults, which I do, is that if you are boring–even for a minute!–they are likely to take out their cell phone or just not come to the next class. So I often ask myself, as I’m writing, if my class would be interested in what I have to say. This has led me to tighten up a bunch of scenes and to add a jolts of humor, whenever possible. Tracee: I don’t have an imaginary reader in mind to the extent that Paula does. I think I’m more in line with Susan and her ‘audience’ i.e. the crowd that has other things to do if we lose their attention. This is certainly one of the hardest parts of editing (let’s face it, that’s when the real decision making comes in). I may be in love with a scene or a character but what will ‘the audience’ think. It’s always a tough call because ‘the audience’ is composed of millions of individual opinions who won’t agree 100% on anything. Cate: I picture my good friends reading it, my father, and my brother. If I can write something that satisfies all of them, I feel like it’s probably a good book. I also give it to them to read before it comes out. 🙂 Alison: This is a hard question for me because when I started writing, I didn’t think my story could possibly make people mad. By the time I finished Blessed be the Wicked, and now that I’m working on Born in the Covenant (current title of book #2), it’s pretty clear there will be certain conservative members of the LDS Church who will definitely not like my book. I talk about too many things that one is not supposed to talk about. Having said that, I have a lot of family and friends who are LDS (as I was myself). I had to come up with a way to create a nuanced depiction of a religion that is usually painted in terms of black or white. When I read the manuscript aloud to myself, I thought about the people I care about who are on the more conservative side. My standard was: Did I express myself honestly, but was also respectful to view points I may not share? I have no doubt there are places where I failed, but I did make every effort to be honest and considerate at the same time. I guess, when you boil it down, I tried to engage in civil discourse.  Alexia: I don’t think of a specific person when I’m writing. But I do imagine non-specific women reading Golden Age Mysteries while binge-watching Midsomer Murders. That’s my “target demographic”. A friend I’ve known since high school recently told me she’s turned her quilting society into a Gethsemane Brown fan club, so now I also picture quilters binge watching Midsomer Murders. Michele: I do not have an imaginary reader in mind when I am writing. Maybe I should, but what I constantly check for is my own boredom. If I am bored by what I am writing, it will most certainly bore any reader, assuming I can even interest one. How about you, dear reader? Do you have an imaginary reader in mind while you write? Come join us on Facebook to share your thoughts!  

My first teaching job was as a Sunday School teacher, which winds up being very good experience for being a writing teacher in New York City. Because the thing about teaching Sunday School is you can’t force anyone to stay. You can’t bribe them (although you can give the occasional bit of chocolate.) You can’t scare them (and you don’t want to. Of course.) All you can do is keep it interesting and hope they will want to stay in class.  During my time as a Sunday School teacher I was always trying to come up with ways to be interesting. I recall using sugar cubes to create a model of the great temple of Jerusalem. I would hide passages of the Bible and kids would have to find them. There were always a lot of marshmallows involved. And fire. If you give an 8th grade boy an opportunity to set something on fire, he will bond with you immediately. (For Ash Wednesday we would write down things we were sorry about and set them aflame.) The nice thing is that really all of my Sunday School students have gone on to be great people, and I love running into them. One is a minister. A great joy. When you teach a class of adult students, especially at night, when they are tired, many of the same rules apply. Without the fire. You have to keep things moving. You have to surprise them. I’m forever hunting for fun writing exercises, and for things to do at 9:30 at night, after we’ve all been sitting there for two and half hours. I’m always conscious of the fact that people are choosing to be in class, and they might just easily choose not to. When the class is over, and people are leaving and smiling at me and saying, “See you next week!,” I always feel like I’ve won a victory. And then I run for the train, and go back to my quiet little room and my dogs, and I write.