mikojohnston

BRINGING CHARACTERS TO LIFE

by Miko Johnston

We can plot our stories well, describe settings vividly, and touch on all the senses, but the heart of any story is its characters, and they need more than a heart to make them come alive.

I began writing fiction, or more accurately, learning how to write fiction, while working in a library. It gave me access to numerous books and magazines for self-study. One book in the collection devoted a chapter to creating characters, complete with a checklist of traits and their opposites – outgoing vs shy; scholarly vs uneducated – from which the prospective writer could choose and assemble. I found the idea silly and worse, useless. Whether in my writing or my reading, I want characters to resemble real human beings, only more interesting than the average person. You can’t achieve that by compiling random parts. Just ask Dr. Frankenstein.

We’re told to have our characters want something and then keep it from them, make them fight for it. Good advice, crucial for plot. We must describe them with enough detail so the reader can visualize them; again, good advice. Backstories and bios, family and friends, strengths and flaws, jobs and hobbies or interests. How they dress. What and who they like or dislike. The dark secret in their past that drives them forward or holds them back. These big picture details lay a foundation for characters. However, it takes more to breathe life into them. Whether you call them quirks, idiosyncrasies or eccentricities, these subtle differences add a realistic quality to them.

Although our individual quirks may differ, we all have them, which makes this a commonality. In other words, a human trait.

Think of Robert Crais’ Elvis Cole and his affection for cartoon characters, the dry humor of Nelson DeMille’s John Corey, or the fussy Inspector Poirot and his eggs in Agatha Christie’s mystery series. Master art restorer Gabriel Allon inherited his talent, as well as trauma, from his Holocaust survivor mother. And while we naturally empathize with a blind girl like Marie-Laure in “All The Light We Cannot See”, the way she copes with it makes her mesmerizing.

There are two general types of quirks – nature and nurture. Nature includes those the character was born with, such as personality types or bio-physical traits like an intellectual disability or a club foot. A life experience, whether an acquired taste or an emotionally painful experience, would fall under the nurture category. In all cases, how the character has internalized the trait leads to the quirk.

Quirks have to be worked organically into the story. They shouldn’t be unrooted in the character’s history or biology. They should play a role in the character’s thoughts, emotions or actions. They need to be noticeable, but not too blatant; subtle, but not too vague. Readers need to discover them on their own by being shown the behaviors rather than being told about them.

A character’s quirks can be related to their physicality, the way they dress or groom themselves, their behavior or personality, or they can be completely random. Here’s one example: money. Most everyone I’ve met has a philosophy, or criteria, about what they’re willing to spend on something. They’ll be tight-fisted about some things and looser, even extravagant about others. What does it say about a character who’ll spend hundreds of dollars on tickets to the opera, a Broadway play, or the Superbowl, but won’t pay two dollars for a can of tuna in the supermarket unless they get a double-off coupon? Or worse, not buy it at all because they can remember when it cost thirty-nine cents? It says they’re “human”.

Ultimately, it’s not so much a matter of “what” a character does or doesn’t do, what they like or dislike, that makes them full-fledged humans. It’s the “why” that makes it interesting and brings them to life. Always listen to your character, for they’ll often tell you what’s right for them. For hints on this, see Gayle’s earlier post.

When treading the fine line between character and caricature, here’s what to avoid:

Cliched or overused idiosyncrasies. If I had a dollar for every alcoholic PI, or divorced or widowed detective, I could pay my cable bill for a year. If you’ve seen it before, add a new twist. If you’ve seen it over and over again, avoid it like the plague (humor intended).
An assemblage of unrelated quirks, as if selected from a list found in a book (jab intended). Author Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe tends his orchids, reads voraciously, and feasts on gourmet food from the comfort of his luxurious home. The genius of his character is how all his passions connect.
Limit the number of quirks, or else – well, just ask Dr. Frankenstein.
Don’t overdo the ones you use. Quirks are like seasoning – you need enough to enhance the flavor without overpowering it.

If you found this post helpful, leave a comment, and feel free to contribute your suggestions for making characters come to life. Frankly, my ulterior motive in writing this comes as much from my goal to write books with believable and engrossing characters as my desire to read them.

Miko Johnston, a founding member of The Writers in Residence, is the author of the historical fiction series, “A Petal in the Wind”, as well as a contributor to several anthologies including the about-t0-be-released “Whidbey Island: An Insider’s Guide”. Miko lives in Washington (the big one) with her rocket scientist husband. Contact her at mikojohnstonauthor@gmail.com

SPRING INTO WRITING

by Miko Johnston

Ah, what a year it’s been, beginning with a harsh and, in some places, treacherous winter. So far, spring has not been much better or safer in many parts of the country. It took a long while to arrive and settle down on the West Coast. Hubby and I took a last-minute vacation to sunny Sicily to escape the cold and gloom for a few weeks and postponed our annual winter trip to LA for months until we could travel around by car instead of rowboat. Both escapes kept me away from writing for a while.

I’ve always enjoyed spring, a time of renewal, and probably more so this year after the winter we’ve been through. Thoughts turn from shoveling snow to shoveling dirt in the garden, from watching the overflowing rivers subside to marveling at the regeneration of fauna and flora.

Part of that rejoicing can include a return to writing. Here are some suggestions to inspire you.

I Change it up

If you’re finding it difficult to focus on your manuscript, or daunting to consider starting one, then don’t. Think about other things to write: short stories, flash fiction, a travel memoir, a chapter from your life. Perhaps a letter – yes, snail mail – to a long lost friend or relative. Buy (or make) some blank-inside cards and create your own birthday, anniversary, get well, and sympathy messages.

In short, forget about your WIP for now, but don’t stop putting words on the page. As we always say, writing is writing.

II Revisit

If you’re writing in more than one point of view and your WIP isn’t going forward, you may have the wrong character in the driver’s seat.

I recently critiqued pages from a romantic suspense novel which had two protagonists. One chapter felt stodgy IMO, and the female came off as cold and unkind. The author had written the scenes in the male character’s point of view, so he only got to observe her behavior. I suggested redoing the chapter in the female’s POV, since she was undergoing the emotional upheaval. I felt if the reader understood what led to her bad behavior, they would find her more sympathetic.

If you get stuck, try rewriting the troublesome scene in another character’s POV.

III Revise

One of my favorite quotes about writing has always been: “Books aren’t written – they’re re-written”. Not everyone accepts or believes that.

Some writers tend to think it’s permanent once you’ve written something. We forget that until a manuscript is published, it can always be changed. In my last book, I introduced new characters whom I barely knew. I stopped writing when Covid hit before returning to the partial manuscript a year and a half later. As the story developed I got to “know” the new characters better. With my first draft complete, I went back to their first appearance to find vague conversations and a lack of detail. Using my more intimate knowledge of these characters, I sharpened their dialogue and expanded their descriptions.

If your characters are flat and generic, get to know them better. If your opening doesn’t grab the reader’s attention, your middle sags, or your ending falls flat, rework that section until you’ve solved the problem (for suggestions and tips, search through our archives, including my BACK TO BASICS: WRITER’S BOOT CAMP series).

IV Forget about Perfection

The opposite problem is to get locked into revisions, snipping away or changing words, sometimes back and forth, all in an attempt to make the manuscript flawless. It won’t happen. It never happens. Finish it. Polish it. Then hire a good editor who will clean up your grammar as well as plot holes. Lastly, find a beta reader, or readers, to give you an unbiased opinion. Do the best work you can, and then let it go.

Trust me, I understand how difficult it can be to carve out time to write, especially if we have no pressing need (such as a deadline from our publisher) to do it. However, remember this: you can’t call yourself a writer if you don’t write.

Now please excuse me, I have a novel to finish.

SEPARATING CRITIQUE FROM CRITICISM

by Miko Johnston

Unlike some of you, I never took creative writing classes. Early in my adult life, thanks to dropping out of college, I floundered in various low-level clerical positions to earn my way, but writing was my dream job. By luck I got to meet a writer whom I admired, and told him of my goal. “I want to be a writer,” I said. He responded, “Then why aren’t you?” I realized I’d asked a meaningless question. I should have been more specific – “I want to write professionally”. That’s when I returned to college and eventually became a journalist. I lost that career after a car crash and five year recovery period. Still, the urge to write persisted.

About forty years ago I decided to switch to writing fiction and began working on a series of short stories based on a childhood pet, thinking they might make good children’s books. I showed them to a good friend, who knew me ‘back when’, as well as the critter in question. I thought the stories were cute, funny and clever; as the character grew up, the storylines and maturity of the writing grew with her. My friend’s reaction? “They’re terrible.” Disheartened, I filed the stories away in a drawer. Care to guess how long it took for me to write again?

Eventually I dipped my toe in the writing world once more, this time with the idea of writing a novel. I slowly built my skills by writing, studying authors whom I respected, and reading books on the subject, but mostly by participating in writers groups.

I joined an established critique group about twenty-five years ago, where I met several of my fellow WInRs. I credit the core members with guiding me though the completion and polishing of my manuscript for publication, and like most who stuck around in the group, I eventually did get it published.

I can still recall presenting Chapters 1 – 5 of what is now my first novel, A Petal in the Wind. I’d compressed what eventually became my entire novel into fifty pages. I also recall the group’s unanimous opinion: to put it kindly, not good, but they explained WHY. No character development, hardly any scene setting or sensory details, and worst of all, an unrealistic reaction by my protagonist, thereby committing the worst crime in fiction by presenting a totally unbelievable situation. Their comments were tough to hear, but I listened and took them to heart. The next time I presented pages for critique, I received a very different response.

I see now the group doubted my ability to write well, based on my initial submission, a reasonable assumption. However, the next time I presented pages, which incorporated their suggestions and advice, the revisions not only impressed them, but convinced them I could do this. Frankly, it convinced me as well. The group treated me differently from then on.

Whenever my turn for submitting pages came up, they mixed praise for the good stuff with very useful suggestions for the problematic parts. Some members had a specialty; one focused on the big picture issues, while another (okay, it was Jackie Houchin) scrutinized each word with forensic precision. The group kept me going with positive and constructive feedback until I finished my first draft. When I presented multiple premises for my follow-up book, their comments helped me find the right path forward in continuing my saga.

I also learned how to give critique. In one of my first meetings, I listened to a short story being read aloud by the writer (okay, it was Jackie Houchin), and all I could contribute was a fashionable woman wouldn’t be wearing a white in winter. With the practice that came with reading or hearing pages from other writers, and picking up clues from their critiques, I began to develop sharper skills for evaluating the good and the not-so-good, not only other’s work, but in my own.

This year I celebrate the twentieth anniversary of my first publishing contract. It would never have happened if not for the support and encouragement of my writers group. Nor would it have happened if I’d disregarded their feedback, or became so insulted by it I’d left the group.

I can take some credit for this, but much should go to the core members. They always knew the boundary line between critique and criticism. Others crossed that line, but thankfully they did not remain in the group for very long because they usually could not accept anything beyond praise for their work. Their loss.

I’ve had the opportunity to pay it forward over the years, in critique groups and through my volunteer work with a local high school creative writing class. Occasionally someone who finds out I’m a published author will ask me to evaluate their writing. The lessons I’ve learned through my groups have helped me do that in a positive, yet helpful way.

Learning the difference between criticism and critique is crucial to the process. Critique must be reassuring, especially when you’re calling out the problems in someone’s writing. Criticism is merely negative. Criticism says something isn’t good, while critique may say that but also explain why. Good critique supports the writer, and encourages them by separating the good from the what-could-be-good-if…. It’s uplifting. It pushed you forward, whereas criticism beats you down.

What if I’m asked to critique a piece that may be beyond redemption? That’s when it helps to have a few key phrases, and a list of recommended reading. I find something, anything to praise or comment favorably on, even if it’s a character’s name. I’ll pick one salvageable problem with the writing and suggest a generic solution. Perhaps there’s too much repetition, the dialog’s clunky, or the genre is unclear. I admit some writers shouldn’t be given false hope, but I needn’t be completely discouraging. I might also remind them there’s nothing wrong with writing for one’s own pleasure, or journaling about one’s life (and keeping it private).

I recently found my pet stories and reread them. Granted, many needed work, but unlike the response I got from my friend, they weren’t awful. Sad that it discouraged me for years, delaying me from doing what I always wanted to do. But I’m writing now, and will continue to do so, having learned the difference between criticism and critique.

On another note, I always love to receive and read your comments, but forgive me if I don’t respond immediately. Today’s post coincides with my 25^th wedding anniversary, so hubby and I will be off celebrating. I promise to get back to you soon.

This story by Miko Johnston was posted by Jackie Houchin

NEW IDEAS, PAST AND PRESENT

by Miko Johnston

We’re barely two months into the new year, but as I contemplate what we’ll write about in the future, and what will inspire us to keep at it, I’ve found some of my answers to those questions in our posts from the previous year.

Hannah wrote about overthinking. How many of us are guilty of getting obsessive about our writing? Characters, plots and background have to be thought out, but we also must keep it all in balance. That has become harder for me to achieve, partly because age has undermined my ability to multitask and partly because my priorities have shifted. I still enjoy writing and am committed to finishing at least two more books, but I’m reminded of Madeline’s piece on Writing Scared, and the idea of switching up the type of writing you do. I’ve done that in the past, so now I’m adding a new avocation – photography.

Years of writing has given me a sense of what works and what doesn’t, and while I still rely on critiques from fellow writers, I often can figure out problems in my manuscript on my own. Not so with my new hobby. I look at a photo and I may like it, but I don’t know why, exactly, nor can I be certain it’s any good. I’ve joined a photography club and have been invited to participate in their biannual exhibit. I’m going to need a lot of critique and advice before I select which pictures I want to use.

Linda’s piece on attending writers conferences reminded me that many more may be held this year as the risk from the recent pandemic fades from our memory, if not from our lives. Will these events be successful, or will the attendance habit, having been interrupted, be broken? Costs, from registration to travel to hotels and meals, will likely be higher than we remember. I can see where some will be very selective about which they’ll attend while others choose not to register for conferences at all.

Gayle’s piece on The Future of the Written Word really resonated with me. I’m often puzzled, even shocked, by how many words have been usurped and had their meanings altered, some with additions, some with subtractions. Regardless, these 2.0 definitions have led to divisions. A lack of clarification, or precision, makes the word’s meaning, well, meaningless. I suspect if any of the worst offenders of this phenomenon were reading this, they would have stopped at usurped (insert my sarcastic smirk here).

And speaking of the written word, Jill contributed a post on a similar, if lighter, topic – the subtle differences between American and British English. With three Brits in our WinR group and many others within our writing circle, it can be a challenge.

Rosemary’s Collecting Memories touched me. While clearing out closets and shelves in anticipation of a thorough spring cleaning, I’ve uncovered a trove of precious mementos – cards, notes and letters from family and friends, some going back to my birth. Programs from bar/bat mitzvas, funerals, and other events. Menus from private supper clubs, conference galas and corporate dinners at restaurants. Each find brought back wonderful memories of the people and places I’ve enjoyed over the years. That included a copy of the dedication that went into the L.A. Library’s copy of Rosemary’s book, “Hollywood Then and Now”, in memory of her beloved husband Rick. Her post reminded me that these keepsakes – all comprised of words – and the memories they invoke, are precious, something Maggie explained so eloquently in her post based on the “a reason, a season, or a lifetime” quote.

Jackie’s interviews with writers as well as all the fabulous guest posts she’d arranged added dimension to our blog, and her piece on naming characters had many solid tips I’ve come to rely on. And I’ll add a special shout-out for all the technical help she’s provided to us, especially a technical “muggle” like me.

There are many more posts from my co-WinRs that have and continue to inspire me. I can only hope I might have had the same effect on them, as well as our readers.

SHADOWS OF THE PAST, Part Two

by Miko Johnson

We may be writers but we’re also observers, and I’ve observed that one picture can be worth a thousand words.

In my previous post, which covered my time in Prague and Poland, I promised to follow up with my trip to France, and how it influenced both my writing, and my life. It began with a trip to Paris ten years earlier, when my husband and I stumbled onto an exhibition at the Musée d’Art et d’Histoire du Judiasme, or MahJ for short. It featured political drawings and prints from Abel Pann, an artist who executed a series of drawings based on the pogroms carried out by soldiers on the Eastern Front during the First World War. His work covered the early 20^th century.

Most broke my heart. They showed mothers and little children hiding behind barns, or cowering inside their homes, with captions like Quick, run and hide! One of his later drawings showed an elderly Jewish man hanging from the gallows while Nazi soldiers watch with amusement. The caption: Honoring the brave WWI veteran. It made me think of my grandfather, whom I never met. A German soldier wounded in the Great War, he was taken to Auschwitz and never seen again. That’s when I decided to dedicate my fourth book to him.

I mentioned in my earlier post the dejection I saw in the people of Bytom, Poland, a former mining town largely ignored by the EU. Images of An Other Europe, another photographic exhibit Allan and I saw in Prague, influenced that observation.

Photographer Constantin Pittas traveled to seventeen countries throughout Europe in the mid- to late-1980s, capturing people in the streets of cities. His stated goal was to “prove that Europe is one entity”.

I believe he failed. Not that his work wasn’t fascinating, but I could tell which side of the Iron Curtain he’d taken photographs by the faces and body language of the people. As in Bytom, I saw desolation throughout the Communist bloc images. In one photo, used for the brochure cover, a middle-aged man walks along a street alone toward the camera at twilight. Bag in hand, his head is tilted down to watch his step, figuratively and literally.

I don’t see joy, or serenity, or even concern in his face. Only resignation. I’d recognized the Charles Bridge in the background so I knew this had been taken in Prague, but based on the other photographs, I had no doubt the location fell behind the Iron Curtain.

Many more showed similar images of people, their emotions constrained. Women standing on line at the market, an elderly woman sitting on a bench. Don’t ask, don’t tell, at least in places like Romania, Hungary, Armenia. People looked so different in Western Europe, where their faces bore the full range of emotions, whether young folks sunbathing on a Mediterranean beach or an elderly Portuguese woman gazing at a drunk lying in the street with a mixture of pity and disgust.

I kept returning to two images, each showing a different young woman with a little smile playing on her lips. In one, the woman sits at the counter of a Parisian café, enjoying a coffee. In the other, the woman turns to glance at a man she’s with. The pure pleasure behind the smile of the coffee drinker, compared to the sadness in the eyes of the woman presumably in love, was strikingly evident.

A series of photos the photographer had taken at the end of his journey, in Berlin, were especially moving. Pittas fortuitously found himself there in 1989, when the wall fell.

There, past and present collided, and confusion mixed with elation as people tried to grasp what had happened.

However, the photographic image that has stayed with me the longest came from a different time.

Photograph by Constantine Pittas, from exhibition at Clam Gallasův Palác, Prague

After Eastern Europe we continued to Toulouse, France. One of my goals was to visit the Musee de la Resistance & de la Deportation, where I’d hoped to find background information for my current WIP, which covers the years around the second World War. The museum’s focus should be obvious even if you don’t understand French. Despite going through the museum with the objective eye of a researcher, I found it dark and disturbing, until I found this photograph:

Need I say more?

Photograph from the collection of Musee de la Resistance & de la Deportation, Toulouse, France

After Toulouse we spent the final days of our trip in Paris. We’d last stayed there six months before Notre Dame caught fire, and caught a heartbreaking glimpse of the ruined cathedral in 2022. While meandering through the city we once again found a photographic exposition of the decimation of one neighborhood during the Nazi occupation. Heartbreaking, we thought as we approached the cathedral. What other sad sight awaited us. We turned the corner and saw this:

Progress. And hope. A balm for the soul.

.This article by M. Johnston was posted by Jackie Houchin

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

by Miko Johnston

My first book, A Petal in the Wind, begins a family saga that encompasses a half century. As each subsequent entry in the series carries a subtitle, my fifth and last book, which I’m writing now, will be called Shadows of the Past.

That phrase took on new meaning recently when my husband Allan and I traveled to Europe.

Our trip began in Prague, where much of my series takes place. I spent a day walking in the footsteps of my characters, visiting their homes, businesses and the landmarks mentioned throughout the pages. I’d selected most of the locations on Google Maps, so seeing them for real was, shall we say, enlightening. It took an hour to find U Seminaire, the location of the bachelor pad I’d used for the man who eventually marries my protagonist, Lala. I’d chosen it because it seemed like a quick walk from the Charles Bridge. In actuality it sits underneath the bridge, entangled in a labyrinth of short blocks and alleys. Somehow the building’s image got reversed on Maps – it’s on the opposite side of the street. Ouch. The little greenbelt across from Lala’s mother’s apartment, where ladies sat on benches underneath the shade trees and gossiped, actually sits below street level, though trees do line the sidewalk and there are benches. And the “gentle slope” of the street where Lala’s family lived for twenty years turned out to be a heart-pounding climb on a good day, and treacherous during inclement weather. Sigh. Still, as I stood in front of the building, seeing it for real, I felt thrilled.

In my fourth book, Lala launches her design career by converting a series of buildings into a world-class hotel. Ironically, the palace (the Czech term for a fine home), which I’d chosen for the location is now an actual hotel, and we decided to book it for our visit. It turned out the be the finest hotel I’ve ever stayed in, and although I have no right to take pride in that, I can’t help but feel delighted. On a slow afternoon I cornered the hotel staff and peppered them with questions about the building’s history, particularly during the Second World War. What began as a brief history lesson turned out to be a wild series of stories and gossip, which will inevitably solve some plot issues.

Three days later Allan and I bid ahoj to Prague and boarded a train bound for Poland. After an overnight stop in Katowice, the largest city in the region known as Upper Silesia, we took a cab to the nearby city of Bytom, the hometown of my father and his entire family. Back then Upper Silesia was part of Germany, the city known as Beuthen. As I walked along the streets, I tried to picture what his life must have been like. I gazed at the people who passed, wondering if I’d see any signs of familiarity in their faces.

The picturesque parts of the town – with some remarkable architecture and a delightful town square, partially rebuilt after being bombed in WWII – surprised me, but other areas wore the hard reality of over a half-century of decline. I saw it in the run-down buildings left to rot and the pervasive trash, especially cigarette butts, in the street. I also saw it in the faces and the body language of so many, but most strikingly in the older folks, who’d lived through Nazi occupation, followed by decades of Soviet rule, only to be largely ignored by the European Union. They bore a sense of quiet despair, of resignation to the bleakness in their existence. The only signs of joy were in little children interacting with pigeons in the town square, swarming with them, chasing them or karate-kicking them away. I saw no faces that resembled mine, nor any signs of my past in the city. It had been wiped clean.

Our next stop in Poland was Krakow, a city Allan has always wanted to visit. Rich in history, it has a beautiful castle on a hill overlooking the Vistula River, and the largest town square in Europe. I went for a different reason. On our second day there we boarded a bus to tour the two largest and most infamous Nazi-era concentration camps, Auschwitz and Birkenau.

Entering into the first camp, with its ARBEIT MACHT FREI (“Work sets you free”) sign over the entrance gate, I wondered how I would react, or feel. I’m still not sure, to be honest, other than the eerie familiarity of what I heard and saw – from decades of studying photographs accompanied by written accounts, of documentaries and movies filmed on location, and stories I’d heard from survivors, including my father. For many, the trip was a history lesson. For me, it was akin to visiting the cemetery; I lost an estimated ninety members of my family there.

After a brief break, the tour continued to nearby Birkenau. Unlike Auschwitz, which to me felt small and claustrophobic, Birkenau is huge. You’ve seen it in many movies: a long low building with railroad tracks leading to a central tower, open at the bottom to allow trains to enter with their human cargo, like a gaping maw ready to devour all who arrive. Alongside and beyond the entrance, what seems like miles and miles of barbed wire fencing surrounds a huge open area interspersed with low barracks and guard towers. In the distance I could see different tour groups traversing the grounds, and for one brief moment I pictured them in the striped uniforms and hats of prisoners.

Prior to abandoning the camp in January 1945, days ahead of the advancing Russian forces, the Nazis burned the meticulous records they’d kept of all who were brought to the camps and blew up the gas chambers. Only piles of rubble remain. Many, many piles. They left behind the prisoners too weak to continue; the rest (including my father) went on a forced march from one concentration camp to the next, always trying to stay ahead of the Russians, whom they rightfully feared more than the other Allies. It took several more months until my father was liberated, but at least the Americans freed him. Had he stayed behind in Auschwitz, he would have lived the rest of his life under the thumb of the Soviets. After what I saw in Bytom, I’m grateful he had the strength to wait.

The entire tour took seven hours and, although it allowed for a few bathroom breaks, it did not include a meal. The irony was not lost on me.

We left Poland and continued our travels, with France the next destination. There I stumbled upon traces of history that will influence my writing, and my life, but I’ll save that for a future post.

I can’t say these experiences will enrich the final chapter in my saga, but I can say I truly feel as though I’ve walked in the shadows of the past, both my characters’, and mine.

I DREAM OF WRITING

by Miko Johnston

We often say writing is a solitary endeavor, but that isn’t really true. It takes a village to be a writer, or at least to be a good writer, whatever that means to you. Certainly it includes getting published, selling books and receiving mostly favorable reviews.

The process of writing may not be solitary, but it is sedentary. It requires long periods of what former WInR Kate Thornton called BIC (butt in chair). Sitting at the computer may be good for building the story but not for building muscle. Therefore I must balance my writing time with more physical activities, and as I get older I find that normal routines like housework or light gardening are not enough. I need a regimen of specific exercises to ward off the effects of aging, arthritis and apathy.

One of my exercises is a type of squat, where I pretend to sit down and get up. I begin by standing with my upper arms straight out, perpendicular to my body and parallel to the floor, and then I cross my forearms. The pose reminds me of the titular character from “I Dream of Jeanie” so much, one day I started humming the theme song to keep time as I lowered and raised my bottom.

That’s what may have inspired this post.

If I met a genie who granted me three wishes, what would they be?

I’d have to establish the ground rules first: how big an ask is possible? World peace? Cures for the most horrendous diseases? Depolluting our planet? I suspect that would be beyond the scope of a genie, so I’d have to focus on more personal asks. And with only three, I’d have to be very shrewd about what I chose.

However, since every discipline nowadays seems to be super specific, perhaps that extends to genies as well. Might there be an athlete genie who can’t make your kids call you more often but can give you toned abs? Or a knitting genie who can correct those dropped stitches without ripping out multiple rows?

And what about a writing genie? Could they turn you into a best-selling author? Improve your dialogue? Inspire a brilliant twist in your mystery? Or finally get that idea you’ve toyed with for years (decades!) plotted out and on the page?

Imagine that I were a genie and had the power to grant you three wishes, only they had to be specific to writing. What would your three wishes be?

Miko Johnston, a founding member of The Writers in Residence, is the author of the historical fiction series, “A Petal in the Wind”, as well as a contributor to several anthologies including the recently released “Whidbey Landmarks”. Miko lives in Washington (the big one) with her rocket scientist husband. Contact her at mikojohnstonauthor@gmail.com

WORDPLAY

by Miko Johnston

Words fascinate me. I think about them constantly, their surface meaning and their subdural meaning. The subtle differences in synonyms when attempting to find the best word in a situation. The unusual pairing of words to create fresh and unique imagery. Formulating a sentence that will dazzle the reader, but not distract them.

We who write in English have an amazing array of words to use. According to a linguist I know, our language stems from our Anglo-Saxon heritage, with words deriving from both cultures. It provides us with an abundance of synonyms.

I became interested in words early on, which is why I wanted to be a poet and have read much poetry. One of my all-time favorites is Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Bells”, a master course in the use of repetition and word sounds to create different moods. It’s where I learned about onomatopoeia – words that sound like their sound. Poe’s bells tinkled in merriment, rhymed and chimed in happiness, clanged in alarm, and tolled in sorrow.

Before I could read I would hear words and “picture” them by their sound. I would think I knew what they meant, but not always – some didn’t translate into their actual meaning.

Growing up in New York, I ate a lot of delicatessen meats like pastrami, corned beef and tongue. As a child, I assumed the last item to be a homonym of the organ found inside mouths. It took until my late teens to make the connection – the delicacy I’d enjoyed for years was actually…a tongue. Had I not already loved it I would have been grossed out!

I’ve since learned tongue is an autological word – it describes what it is, or expresses a property it also possesses. Examples of autology include unhyphenated, word, and pentasyllabic (a five-syllable word that means a five-syllable word).

Onomatopoeia words sound like they sound. Autological words mean what they mean. However I’m more curious by other categories of words, which have no name that I’m aware of, the first being words that sound like what they mean.

Take alluring. When it’s said out loud it rolls gently off the tongue. You can almost hear the trilling of the R, the sensuousness of the word. I find tranquil to have a soothing sound. To me, idiot sounds ‘fast’ while moron sounds ‘slow’, which is why I ascribe each term to different, um, problematic drivers. I also think stress, beginning with its three hard consonants and ending in the shrillness of double S, sounds, well, stressful. And come to think of it, shrill sounds…shrill. I wonder – do these words sound like their meaning because we know their meaning, or would they sound that way to someone unfamiliar with the word? What would you call words that sound like what they mean?

Then there are words that sound nothing like their meaning. Who came up with pulchritude to describe pleasing beauty? Is gorgeous, with its hard opening G and harsh final syllable, much better? Does relax inspire calmness? One of my favorite and most pleasant sense memories is the smell of summer rain hitting a hot, dry pavement. There’s a word for it – petrichor. Does that sound pleasing? Not to me. Shouldn’t words like these have a name as well?

You can probably come up with other examples of words that sound, or don’t sound, like what they mean, and please do. You might know of a word that describes these types of words, or suggest one of your own. All I know for certain is that my fascination with words and language led me to become a writer.

Miko Johnston, a founding member of The Writers in Residence, is the author of the historical fiction series, “A Petal in the Wind”, as well as a contributor to several anthologies including the recently released “Whidbey Landmarks”. Miko lives in Washington (the big one) with her rocket scientist husband. Contact her at mikojohnstonauthor@gmail.com

Lessons From A Child Poet

by Miko Johnston

If you’ve read my biography, you know my earliest ambition was to become a poet. I began writing poems at age six, and continued until I discovered it wasn’t a mainstream career – I found no “help wanted” ads for poets in the New York Times classified section. Being a practical sort, I changed my goal, but I’ve been writing ever since.

I still remember the first poem I wrote. I actually sat down and evaluated it line by line, and found that I had good instincts about the process. I recalled how I’d spent time playing with the wording, the rhyming and the rhythm, which created imagery through words. I also found parallels with my current approach to writing.

Let me show you what I mean. The poem goes:

I went to the moon

One sunny afternoon

Where I saw a sight

That gave me a fright

A man from Mars

With green and purple scars

The poem rhymes because I felt at the time poems should rhyme. It has a rhythm as well, for the same reason.

The first two lines had come to me immediately. I liked the way they sounded, with a sing-song bounciness reminiscent of a good nursery rhyme. The sound of words, how they flow together and the rhythm they create when read, remains an important aspect of writing to me and something I always strive to attain. The lines also comprise the first third of the poem. They introduce the setting, the character, and launch the story, as a first act should.

I don’t specify how I got to the moon, whether I rocketed, incorporated some other form of transport, or jumped, but I don’t think it matters. Rather than fill in every detail, it leaves that to the reader’s imagination, which is still characteristic of my style

The next two lines bring in an element of tension through emotion, as well as the possibility of conflict arising from it. Fear can be very potent in motivating a character. These lines also comprise the middle of the poem, but the sudden change from the playful couplet that opens the poem grabs our attention. No sagging middle here, another goal in my writing.

The last two lines are, to me, the most interesting. Finding another “non-resident” on the moon is more curious than scary, which brings the poem back to the mood set in the opening. A good ending should always reference the beginning. I contemplated the Martian’s coloring for a long while. At least some of the scars had to be green, since that was all we knew about Martians in those days. I toyed with using red or blue for the second color – the rhythm would have matched better. Somehow it had to be purple, an uncommon color in the fifties, which made it exotic. And I decided I liked the hiccup effect it gave the rhythm, like going over a speed bump or pot hole. It jars you, which also fits the theme. It also leaves it to the reader to decide whether the Martian’s appearance was scary or humorous.

Is it a great poem? No, but come on, I was only six. If this were a story, it would be incomplete. I could have added more, but it does convey an image and an emotional response. I say it’s complete as is.

I don’t write much poetry anymore, except for an occasional musing on a subject or a haiku in a humorous vein. I like fitting an idea to a very specific and brief formula. I’ll share my favorite haiku with you:

FOR THE RECORD

Born in thirty-three

Celebrated forty-five

In seventy-eight

The math works out, but finding the right title was critical, as much for this poem as for a novel

As I consider my very first attempt at writing with the benefit of more than a half century of hindsight, I can see the roots of my development as a writer of prose.

For those of you who write, do you remember the first piece you wrote? How would you trace your development as a writer from that piece to today?

Miko Johnston, a founding member of The Writers in Residence, is the author of the historical fiction series, “A Petal in the Wind”, as well as a contributor to several anthologies including the recently released “Whidbey Landmarks”. Miko lives in Washington (the big one) with her rocket scientist husband. Contact her at mikojohnstonauthor@gmail.com

ANDS, NONES, and THANKS

By Miko Johnston

Happy New Year everyone. The holiday season has ended, but the memory lingers for many reasons. Because of all the activity at the end of the year, I limit my writing to holiday messages and thank you notes, but as we always say – writing is writing.

Each year I buy five dozen holiday cards with messages ranging from Merry Christmas to various generic seasonal greetings. It takes a full day to pick an appropriate card and think of something to write in each one that I send to family and friends, but the annual ritual always begins with updating the mailing list before my husband prints out labels. Although I get together, or at least correspond, with many on the list, with some this is the only time of year we’re in contact. The exchange is a way to stay in touch, see how we’re doing, and send good wishes for the holiday and upcoming year.

Revising the list has become a bittersweet part of the process. In the past, most of the changes have been addresses and the occasional addition (marriage, children) or division (divorce). However, for the past few years, most changes have been subtraction – the painful act of deleting ANDs. Don and Jean are now Don, Bert and Ruth are now Ruth. Some former ANDs become NONEs. When Don or Ruth are no longer with us, the entire entry will have to be deleted, leaving gaps in my mailing list as well as my heart.

The joy of receiving cards offsets much of that nostalgia. I often get to see pictures of the family and hear about their adventures over the past year. Some of the news may not be happy, but the contact always is. I set up all my cards along the living room and dining room windows, each one like a handshake, or hug, from someone dear. When I remove them in early January I take a moment to reflect on the cards that are missing, a reminder of those I’ve lost, either in body, or in mind, or who’ve just drifted away.

For me the best part of holiday gifts isn’t receiving them, but writing thank you cards. Like the holiday cards, it starts with finding the right card for the person to be thanked. I have an assortment of stationery with different designs, ranging from charming illustrations to an embossed THANK YOU. I favor classic white or cream notes with matching or coordinating envelopes. Then there’s the challenge of coming up with something fresh, sincere and meaningful to write, just the type of challenge I relish.

I always begin with pen and paper, and write out something I think may be suitable using the three-step method*. I play around with the wording until I’m happy with the results, then carefully copy it onto the note**. Unlike my holiday cards, I always hand write both the recipient’s address and my return address on the envelope. Only the stamp and the card’s design is pre-printed. To me that’s part of the thank you process.

Don’t get me started on how getting thank you notes has become rarer than a 1952 Mickey Mantle rookie card, especially from anyone under 60. However, when I do receive one I treasure it. After reading the note, I study how the sender constructed the message, admire the wording – heck, I admire the attempt! One of the best notes I’d received last year came from the grandson of a cousin, thanking my husband and me for a high school graduation gift. We winged the present based on what little we knew of his interests, but his note expressed such appreciation and gratitude, and so eloquently, that it didn’t matter that he emailed it to us. I’ll happily accept an emailed, phoned or texted note of thanks now. Frankly, some of my younger relatives can’t be bothered to even say thank you, let alone send a written note to us. Only my husband’s intervention kept me from giving them coal for Christmas. But that’s another story.

How was your holiday season? Did you receive any cards or notes that were especially meaningful? And what was your favorite part of holiday writing?

*Thank the giver, tell them why you’re thankful, then thank them again.

**I have dysgraphia – the writing equivalent of dyslexia.

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Miko Johnston, a founding member of The Writers in Residence, is the author of the historical fiction saga A PETAL IN THE WIND, as well as a contributor to anthologies such as the newly released “Whidbey Landmarks.”

Miko lives in Washington (the big one) with her rocket scientist husband. Contact her at mikojohnstonauthor@gmail.com

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