I tend to spend a lot of time working on the details of a story. The
short story I'm working on right now (early 2000) first started taking shape about eight
years ago. A lot has been changed in those eight years; about the only parts
of the original story seed that remain are the two main characters and the
situation that sets the backdrop for the story. Everything else has
changed, many times, as I worked on other stories and other projects,
waiting for the details of Merritt and Ariel's story to solidify in my
journals.
Eight years ago I didn't know as much about my writing needs, and had a
tendency to forge ahead half-blindly with no clear idea where the story
would end up. Usually it would end up floundering as a result. So, I'd
start asking myself questions until I either revealed some insight into the
rest of the story or determined that it just wasn't ready to be written
yet.
It was during one of these times that I wrote the following character
interview. The story was (and still is) being told through the viewpoint of
Merritt Trefzl, and I had a pretty good feel for his character from the
start. But the other main character was being elusive.
Sometimes it helps to try writing a scene from another perspective. You
lose some inhibition because the scene isn't part of the story and it's
easier to allow the writing to be horrible. You also free yourself from
having to explain the character's motives and actions, and free the
character to reveal those things herself.
The following dialogue with Ariel, the non-viewpoint character, came very
naturally -- in that way of writing that comes from the character, and not from the writer.
Interviewing Ariel
© 1992 Lorne Laliberte
How do you feel, Ariel?
How do I feel? How do you think I fucking feel? No, no, I'm not what you
think. I'm not a protesteth-too-much. I'm not someone who just screams and
shouts and throws tantrums. I connive. I manipulate. And I'm damn good at
it. Better than you'll ever be. Only I won't say so, I'll never say so, I
just have to be in the same room as you and it's obvious to yourself how
petty and insignificant you are, because I am so capable, so in control. In
control.
How do you stay in control?
Sometimes it isn't a good idea to ask questions.
Why do you stay in control?
Dangerous game....
Well, I'll play it then. I don't have any choice. If there was anyone
around that could be trusted to be at least the half-human that they
are...you force me to take charge by your own incompetence.
Am I a threat to you?
No.
Are you sure?
Yes. If you were a threat to me, you wouldn't ask.
What do you want, Ariel?
What I want.
What are you afraid of? What makes you so full of hate?
I can't let anyone love me. Then I'd have to love them back, and it
isn't worth it.
Isn't worth what?
Isn't worth it to love. Isn't worth the pain.
Why, is love so painful?
You wouldn't understand.
Try me.
I was in love once. More than you could ever imagine, I was in love.
(What's that, Merritt? You wanted to say something?)
(Yes, well, the reason I care so much aboout Ariel, is because, in order
for her to be so terrible, so cruel herself, something so terrible must
have happened to her, and I can't stand knowing she's all alone, she'd be
all alone if I didn't at least stay with her, because no one should have to
carry so much pain by herself, not even Ariel.)
You're not listening.
I'm sorry, Ariel.
Why do you even pay attention to him? He doesn't know what real pain is.
He's lived with you for long enough.
You might think so, but I'm not that bad. I'm not the worst. He doesn't
know real pain.
And you do?
You wouldn't be able to understand, if I told you. You're like him, you
can't imagine.
Maybe I'd surprise you.
No, no, that's one thing you would not do.
Try me.
You've said that twice. It didn't work the first time.
Am I upsetting you?
No more than I already am upset. You're a nothing. I have bigger
problems, bigger things to fear than someone who thinks a series of
questions can reveal who I am.
Is that what I think?
I just told you. The Schulmer sequence doesn't work on me.
I don't know, it seems to be working quite well.
You just go on thinking that, halfer. Just go right fucking on.
You swear too much.
And you've stopped asking questions.
When I wrote this experiment I was surprised that Ariel's voice (as jumbled,
undeveloped and clichéd as it appears to me now) could come so easily once
I removed her from the story. I looked for a difference between the way I
was writing the story and the way I wrote the interview and came up with
one interesting point: in the interview I had let Ariel swear.
When I started writing the story, she kept wanting to swear, but at that time
I had a strong aversion to using cheap language in my stories. I think that was part of the
problem -- I was stifling Ariel, trying to make a bad girl talk like a nice girl, and if
there's anything she isn't meant to be, it's a nice girl.
Of course, the story needed more than just letting Ariel utter a few
f-words. I ended up shelving the story for other projects until a few years later. When that version stalled, I shelved it
again...and again a year after that...and so it went. Over the years I've watched this story devlop very slowly, sometimes
taking radical turns, sometimes playing deja vu. In retrospect I understand what went wrong; I had two strong characters but
not enough peril, and although I'd tried introducing sources of conflict countless times, none of hte attempts had ever resulted
in a story that felt true.
The answer came to me in the middle of the night, in the fall of 1999, after waking from a bad dream. I don't remember the
dream at all, but I remember thinking about Merritt (the main character in this 8-year attempt to form a story) in a way
I never had before, and suddenly the solution was obvious. I scrambled out of bed to scribble some notes into my journal, knowing
better than to trust this new intuition to my sleepy memory.
