I won Nano!

I did it! I finished my Nano story a week early even. I didn't win last year, so this was a nice confidence boost on the writing front. It was good to just get something completely new on paper. I started from a literal blank page with no ideas on day one.

And I wrote this weird book. Still editing to do, and it's on the back burner for the season so to speak, but here's a bit about it, and a little excerpt.

The Forest of Souls 

Natsuki (Nat to everyone) was adopted by the Faroe-Thompson's when she was eight-years-old. Totally colorblind after a head injury when she was younger, she takes her life with a heavy grain of salt and a pessimistic world view. Her brother, Jamie, is the bane of her existence.

But things are about to take an unexpected turn for Nat during a class trip to Gettysburg--where Nat learns that she can see the dead in living color. Will Swift, Union soldier and ghost, has decided it's his job to protect Nat now that a cabal of mediums is on her scent. Will one earnest ghost be enough to save her? Will Nat figure out how to use her gifts in time to save her friends, stop the cabal and keep her family safe?


Excerpt

After spending way too much money on ridiculous trinkets the class was trooped over the see the reenactment of the Gettysburg Address. The actor playing Lincoln was passionate at least, but having had to recite the address by rote before we even left on the trip meant I was used to the sound and my attention…wandered.

There were some actors dressed as soldiers off to one side fiddling with their equipment. I don’t know what drew my attention to them. One of them was different and it took me a few seconds to figure out why. I raised my eyebrows, jaw dropping in surprise. He’s in color.

I could see the color. The dark blue of his uniform, the peachy color of his skin—the red of the dried blood on his sleeve. Sometimes I dreamed in color, but this was different. It was just him. Maybe he felt me watching him or something but his head turned and he stared at me. His eyes were blue. His eyes narrowed and his head tilted. He was maybe a hundred feet away from me, but I blinked and suddenly he was directly in front of me.

I backed up, stepping on Lito’s foot.

“Nat?”

I turned back to look at Lito and then back to the soldier, but he was gone.

“Sorry, I—thought there was a bee,” I said.

“Oh.”

I took a breath and looked back at the soldiers, but the man I’d seen before wasn’t there. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. What was that?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lito asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Totally fine.

***

That night I woke up again to cold feet, but this time I was afraid to open my eyes. I tried to ignore the cold air. I pulled a pillow over my head and willed whatever it was to go away. Please go away. Please go away.

I felt a cold, icy touch run down the bottom of my foot and screamed, jerking my foot away.

“Nat?” Christina flipped on the light, rubbing her eyes and she fumbled for her glasses. “What’s wrong.”

I stared at the end of the bed. There was no shadow there, but for the briefest of moments, I swore I saw that soldier again, standing over my bed with his finger pressed to his lips.

“I—uh—bee?”

“A bee? Really?”

“Not really. I think—don’t judge me—I saw a ghost.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows went up. “A ghost? That’s awesome.”

“Not really.” I shook my head. “Maybe it was a just a nightmare.”

“Well let me know if you see another one, okay? I want to get a look at it.”

“Sure thing, Christina.” I flopped back onto the pillows. “Let’s try to get some sleep.”

“Okay, but wake me up if you see another ghost, okay?”

“It’s a promise.” I turned off the light and tried to go back to sleep.

***

I woke up the next morning annoyed and puffy. I got coffee at breakfast and Papa raised his eyebrows.

“Late night, pumpkin?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” I added enough sugar to make it taste less awful and some milk for protein.”

He frowned and steered me away from the coffee station by the elbow. “Are you having nightmares?” he asked in a low, concerned voice.

“No, Papa, it was just—new place. Excitement. I’m okay.”

“You’ll tell me if you aren’t.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay. But only one cup of coffee, and eat some oatmeal.”

“Yes, Papa.”

He was the worrier; not like he didn’t have reason to worry. When my dads’ took me in I was not okay. I had nightmares. I went to a lot of therapy. I hadn’t needed to in a while but they worried.

He was definitely going to keep an eye on me. Not so great if I had more encounters with the soldier from yesterday. We were touring some historic buildings today and after lunch we would head to the Gateway Theater.

I stuck with Lito and Christina as we made our way through a period-furnished house. I felt uneasy. It wasn’t just that I hadn’t slept the night before. I felt like there was something waiting for me around every corner, hovering. I couldn’t shake the feeling. The hair kept prickling up on my arms. I almost felt like I was being followed. Like—someone was watching me.

I tried to ignore it, focusing on Ms. Irwin’s lecture about the house and the living conditions of everyday people during the Civil War but the sensation persisted. Even when we left the house, I could feel eyes on me. As we walked away down the sidewalk in a ragtag line I glanced back at the two story Victorian and paused. There was that soldier again, standing in the downstairs window. He was in color again.

“Nat?” Christina called.

I didn’t want to look away from the soldier in the window. I felt her join me, touching my arm.

“What is it?”

“You don’t see him?”

“No. What do you see?”

“A soldier, in the window.” I pointed. “He’s in color.” I kept my voice pitched low. “You don’t see him?”

“No.” But I didn’t hear disbelief in her tone.

“Girls, keep up please!” Ms. Irwin shouted.

I turned away from the house, following Christina back to the group but that prickle of the back of my neck told me the soldier was still watching me. I took Christina’s hand and she squeezed mine gently.

This was definitely not normal.

 

Writing Characters with Disabilities : Sophia Beaumont Guest Hosts

Today on the blog we have the privilege of hosting Ms. Sophia Beaumont who has come to talk to you all about writing characters with disabilities. 

On the Subject: 

Invisible disabilities can be a challenge to write. I bet that there are at least three people that you know right now who have an invisible disability: Fibromyalgia. Epilepsy. PTSD. There are literally dozens of diseases and conditions that can limit a person physically. Up until the 1950s, Asthma was routinely treated as a mental illness, not a physical one.

The character that I am working with right now was born prematurely in 1903, and barely managed to survive. Now at 22, she leads a mostly normal life—except for her asthma and a visual impairment that is based on my own mother's eye condition: bilateral nystagmus. This is a very rare birth defect that was caused by under development in parts of her brain and inner ear, which leads to constant rapid and uncontrollable eye movement. Today, this is most commonly a side effect of brain injuries or drug overdoses.

Now, when was the last time you read a book where the main character had a physical disability? Differently abled people are all around us, but they are seldom heroes in books or movies, but why not?

Carl Jung described the mythological archetype of the hero with the following:

• Unusual circumstances surrounding their birth
• Leaves their family or homeland to live with others
• An event, sometimes traumatic, leads to an adventure or quest
• The Hero has a special weapon that only they can wield
• The Hero must prove themselves many times while on an adventure
• They must suffer through the Journey and the Unhealable Wound

Jung picked out other traits as well, but those are the big ones. Now, look at that visually impaired character that we were talking about earlier: unusual circumstances at birth, check. Leaving family to live with others: it was not uncommon, especially in Victorian times, for a disabled person to be sent away, either to an asylum or to a family member better able to care for them.

Now, let's see...a traumatic event that leads to an adventure or quest. There's no reason that their physical defect has to be from birth. Perhaps they were wounded during wartime, and are now hunting down the person responsible. Or they could be searching for a cure or treatment.

The special weapon is a little trickier. Perhaps their weapon is supernatural and unrelated. Maybe your wheel-chair bound scientist has created a jetpack and ray gun that only he knows how to use. In my case, my heroine's visual disability is directly related to her ability to see ghosts, something that she can use to her advantage.

As for the last two points on the list, show me someone who is a minority or disabled who doesn't have to prove themselves in a dozen ways every single day just because they are female, or Hispanic or Muslim or mentally ill (or all of the above)?

The scientific research of the Victorian Era paved the way for thousands of cures and treatments in the first half of the 20^th century, but were not enough to combat them at the time. Prenatal care was almost non existent. Anti psychotics didn't exist yet. The most common treatment for non-violent mental illness was to keep the patient locked away and calm, and perhaps to give them a simple occupation, like sewing, to pass the time. Club foot and cleft pallet were largely untreatable. Scarlet fever and other illnesses often rendered the sufferer blind or deaf. Prior to the advent of antibiotics, an injured limb was often cut off. Autism, schizophrenia, dissociative personality disorder, postpartum depression, and menopause were treated alongside female hysteria and wandering womb.

To say that you have a completely healthy, white middle class character during this period is, quite frankly, a gross mistake:

• In 1901, only 1/8 of the British Empire was Caucasian, with the rest being made up of the conquered races of Africa, the Pacific, Asia, and North America.
• 33% of London residents were born elsewhere, and about half of those coming from outside the British Isles entirely.
• 40% of the workforce was employed in manual labor/heavy industry, with an additional 40% made up of women, mostly in domestic service.

Look around you at the people in your life. While the numbers and names have changed, minorities in one form or another have existed for as long as human kind. Increasing the diversity of the cast of characters enriches the story and the writing (both in steampunk and other genres), and creates opportunities to connect with readers that may not otherwise exist. Besides, what is the point of creating a fictional world, if you can't correct some of the problems we face in the real one?

More from Sophia can be found at her blog!