Strange Traits Indeed

It’s hard, when you’re writing characters, to figure out what they will be like exactly.

Some of it is easy because the requirements of the story give us what we need to make the story work.  ‘If the guy is an Olympic Athlete he has to be fit’, that sort of thing, unless it’s a comedy… hmmm.

So, yeah, as somebody who believes that everything serves the story, I rarely have a problem deciding the basics of what my characters are like because the story has already told me that.

It’s those other little things.  The Traits, the ‘Foibles, the ‘Colouring-in’.

And we need a bit of colouring-in for our characters, I reckon.  Some things to ease them up off the page and allow them to throw a few shadows out in the real world.  Otherwise they’re in danger of being a little clichéd and a little bit flat too.

The trouble is, Traits and Foibles and such can easily be clichéd themselves.  He has a limp.  She cannot pronounce her ‘R’s.  It is green with an aerial on its head.  That sort of thing.

Where, then, does one find a good Foible these days?

Perhaps we should look in the mirror.

This week, I set myself a little task.  I challenged myself to look hard at myself and try to identify a couple of my own personal traits which might be odd enough to rise above the cliché and the commonplace.

It turns out it wasn’t easy.

I guess we’re so accustomed to ourselves, so comfy in our own skin, that we maybe find it hard to step aside and identify those moments when we do distinctive things.  It can help if you have kids because they can inherit some of your own traits and you can see them more easily in them than in you.  My eldest son, for instance, tends to hold his chin when thinking hard about something.  I never know I did that until I saw him do it.

Anyway, I found two.  Two traits that I have.  Maybe I’ll use them in a character sometime, who knows?

Trait Number One:  ‘Whistle While You're Irked’.
I do this.  I didn’t know I did it until I put myself on alert to look for stuff.  There is a thought process behind it.  I think, “I’m annoyed.  I don’t want anyone to know I’m annoyed so I’d better do something which shows I am not annoyed – I know, I’ll whistle.”  The tune isn’t important although a jolly irish reel, jig or hornpipe seems to be the norm.  The lesson here is, if you see me walking towards you and I’m whistling, better turn and run in the other direction.

Trait Number Two:  ‘If I Say It , It Will Come’

This is not so much something I do rather it’s an odd aspect of how my brain works.  This is true and it baffles me quite a bit.  I think it qualifies as a trait.  If there’s something in my head, some piece of information that I cannot access although I know for sure it’s in there, I can spend hours and even sometimes days trying to convince my brain to give up this information.  I can focus on it as hard as I like, I can ignore it as hard as I like, it won’t matter.  But the minute I ask somebody else for that information, out loud, it will spring magically into my head.  A simple example; “What is the name of that pub in Westport?’  (Think, think think, no joy).  Three days later, I ask my friend and, before I’ve finished framing the question, I know the name.  Thinking back, this is always happening to me but I’ve only pinpointed it when I went on a trait-quest.  I think I can learn from identifying this foible.  From now on, if stuck on recalling something, I’m going to ask someone else sooner – even if there’s no chance that they will know the answer.  I’ll report back to you on how I get on.

So, this exercise… has it been useful?  Will I now find it incredibly easy to come up with quirky and individualistic traits for my upcoming characters?

Well… hardly.

But at least I got a blog post out of it.




Happy New Microcosm

I have this theory that the week which runs between Christmas and New Year’s Day of a sort of a microcosm of the year we are departing and, perhaps, of our lives.

(Oh Jesus, here we go…)

No, no, bear with me.  I’ll be done with this in a minute and then I’ll tell you about some stuff I liked in 2011.

It’s natural that we would arrive at the end of another year all-introspective and perhaps a little maudlin.  No matter what other circumstances pertained, we would probably still do this.  Although it’s really just another day, we have learned to measure out our lives in bite sized portions and to place markers of its demise repeatedly along our way.

So, yeah, we’re always going to feel we’re at the end of one thing and the start of another on this day of all days, on New Year’s Eve.

But that Christmas Week we’ve just completed, it sets us up for it, I think.

It’s like our year, it’s like our life.

It’s full of promise, at first.  It starts out with music and lights and companionship and excitement and… well, you know how it starts.  Then the promise doesn’t quite deliver – it’s good but it’s not as good as it’s built up to be – then it slides into the doldrums  Then it dies. 

And it all happens in a week.

Therein lies the rub.

You see, at first, Christmas week stretches ahead of us like a promise of peace and leisure which may never end.  And then it all goes so quickly… so very quickly.

As a year goes quickly…

As a life goes quickly.

So, it’s hardly a wonder that we might ponder our future, our past, our very existence on this day of all days.  After all, we have just watched our lives play out in miniature, right before our pudding-stained eyes.

So, yeah, here comes 2012.  It will probably be quick and edgy just like all the others were.  Live it and love it the very best you can.

Now, that's quite enough of that.

                     *                 *                *                  *

I liked some books and films and stuff which I came upon this year.  Mostly, though, they wouldn’t be from this year.  I am usually several steps behind the Zeitgeist and I like it that way.  Besides, new stuff is so damned expensive.

Books: Castlebar Book Club showed me some of my favourite books of this year, they included:

The Sisters Brothers by Patrick DeWitt
Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter by Tom Franklin
Tony & Susan by Austin Wright

Film:  The film which stood apart for me this year is, again, not of this year:  The Secret in Their Eyes.  I also greatly enjoyed ‘Super 8’ with my family and 'True Grit', which has stayed with me in a rather surprising way.  There is lots from 2011 that I haven’t seen yet – I’m a DVD man, mostly.  I am most looking forward to ‘Tinker Tailor…’.

Theatre:  Danny Boyle’s ‘Frankenstein’, beamed to my cinema on St Patrick’s Day, was a high point in many respects.  Bruiser’s Othello, in the Linenhall, was also brilliant.

I don’t expect that my liking something will encourage you to try it but, if you see something here and then see other people liking it too, perhaps the collective liking will bring you to it.  That’s my hope anyway.

Thanks for stopping by, this year. I have no idea what kind of posts next year will bring but then I never do.   To quote Indiana Jones, “I’m making this up as I go.”


Happy New Year.

x

As Close to a Prayer

I lost the knack of praying a long time ago. Nowadays a heartfelt wish is about as good as I can do. So here’s one.

But first, a little context.

My son had one of his return visits to his Orthodontist earlier this week. He’s been having some pretty serious realignment done for just over a year now. The dentist-guy, who wears cool protective glasses, pronounced my son’s progress as being remarkable and announced that some of the more obtrusive blocks can be removed early next year.

My reaction to this news surprised me a little. It is no exaggeration to say that I was, quite literally, overjoyed.  It was a definite over-reaction and much more of a one than my son had. He reckoned it was ‘pretty cool’ and he moved on with other stuff just like he always does.

I know why I reacted as I did. It’s mostly because of how lucky we’ve been. So very lucky. I’m not superstitious at all but still I touch wood as I write that last sentence, you have to cover your ass in any way possible.

We have two great boys and neither of them (touch that wood again) have known serious sickness or hurt or pain in their lives.  We’ve been so lucky.  I’d go for ‘blessed’ but I lost the knack of ‘blessed’ a long time ago too.

So I’ll never forget the awful day that I first brought my son to get his orthodontic stuff fitted. I wasn’t really warned, or prepared, so I sat in the waiting room and waited for him to come out. It took a long time.

The moment when he came out was, without question, one of the worst of my life. His mouth seemed to be packed tight with ‘stuff’, metal and plastic 'stuff' and his jaw hung open awkwardly and, truth be told, rather grotesquely. But it was his eyes…  his eyes looked at me and said to me, ‘Is this real?’ ‘Do I really have to do this?’ ‘Can’t you make this better for me?’

I ran into the surgery. The guy looked surprised behind his cool glasses but not too much. 

“This can’t be right,” I said, “Look at him, his mouth is hanging open.”

“He’ll get used to it,” the guy smiled, “don’t worry.”

And he did. Stoic little John. Within a single day he had taken it all on board, dealt with it effortlessly, and his being-okay-with-it made it okay for me too.

Many of you may laugh at this story of mine. Stupid, lucky, blessed, Ken, who thinks an hour at an orthodontic appointment is to watch your child suffer. I don’t blame you, not at all.  

But it’s not that.

My tiny experience gave me my only taste of what it must be like to have a son or a daughter who is unwell.  It was like that thing the old priests used to do – run your finger across a candle flame to get a gauge of the thousand-fold agony of their ‘hell’.

Those feelings I had that day. The dread, the helplessness, the genuine wish that there was some orthodontic brace that I could wear for him that would straighten his teeth.  Some bloody way that I could just take this bullet for him.  Those feelings gave me a minuscule taste of what life might be like with a sick child.

So today, as the first of the orthodontic blocks get ready to come out. My thoughts are with you, you parents whose children are unwell. I won’t throw the cliché at you and say that I don’t know how you do it.  I reckon that you don’t either.  We simply have to drink from the cup we are given, don’t we? But my heart goes out to you, it really does.

And I wish you things. I wish you well. I wish that the coming year sees your kid get better and better every day and, if that simply cannot be, I wish you the strength and reserves to cope and to support your stoic child.

And that’s about as close to a prayer as I can get for you. I really mean it though.

Perhaps that counts for something, somewhere.