"I beg your pardon?" he said. Strangely, my imaginary Frodo had answer. More strangely, it wasn't one I expected.
I suddenly realized that Frodo was not exactly open to the idea. No wonder I was having so much trouble maneuvering him into bed with Sam!
He was very polite however, so I couldn't tell if he was repulsed or simply confused.
So I explained, "That means having a," I sought for an equally polite tone, "physical relationship with someone of the same gender."
"We don't really discuss such private matters here in the Shire." He seemed nonplused. "But I've never really thought about it." Well, this wasn't getting anywhere; but fortunately he took a breath and kept speaking. "Why would anyone want to do that?"
Trust Frodo to turn the tables and answer a question with another question.
Hmm. This could either mean that he was hopelessly straight, or he had never imagined homosexuality. Perhaps the Shire was an awfully straight-laced sort of place. I tried Frodo's technique (and marveled at how good he was at evasion):
"So you've never heard of such a thing?" I feigned surprise, as if everyone who was anyone had. It stung his pride. By this point the character Frodo was quite vividly a person.
"No. Well," he hedged, "it's not unheard of. But one's private life is exactly that: private." He gave me a firm look and I knew the conversation was over.
I never really got my answer, but I learned a lot about him in the process. And I knew that for him, a gay relationship would have to come out of the clear blue sky, and would have to be utterly private. In a sense he was more vulnerable: he'd never considered it enough to recognize the signs. He was so terribly solitary.
Then I knew what my plot would have to be, what situation would work for him. I wrote it down fast, before the impulse of the story disappeared, surfing it like a wave, shaping it as I would an essay but instead of it being my ideas that I was shaping, I was shaping what has sprung out of my conversation with him. That was the difference.
I hope this is helpful.
These days I rarely have to interview my characters unless they are OCs (I've interviewed Torvald and a few others), but that process awakened a child-like quality of playing make-believe. The characters have come to life. Sometime inconveniently, sometimes astounding me.
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branchandroot
The non-mystery of the creative process - part II
Date: 2004-12-12 01:05 pm (UTC)"I beg your pardon?" he said. Strangely, my imaginary Frodo had answer. More strangely, it wasn't one I expected.
I suddenly realized that Frodo was not exactly open to the idea. No wonder I was having so much trouble maneuvering him into bed with Sam!
He was very polite however, so I couldn't tell if he was repulsed or simply confused.
So I explained, "That means having a," I sought for an equally polite tone, "physical relationship with someone of the same gender."
"We don't really discuss such private matters here in the Shire." He seemed nonplused. "But I've never really thought about it." Well, this wasn't getting anywhere; but fortunately he took a breath and kept speaking. "Why would anyone want to do that?"
Trust Frodo to turn the tables and answer a question with another question.
Hmm. This could either mean that he was hopelessly straight, or he had never imagined homosexuality. Perhaps the Shire was an awfully straight-laced sort of place. I tried Frodo's technique (and marveled at how good he was at evasion):
"So you've never heard of such a thing?" I feigned surprise, as if everyone who was anyone had. It stung his pride. By this point the character Frodo was quite vividly a person.
"No. Well," he hedged, "it's not unheard of. But one's private life is exactly that: private." He gave me a firm look and I knew the conversation was over.
I never really got my answer, but I learned a lot about him in the process. And I knew that for him, a gay relationship would have to come out of the clear blue sky, and would have to be utterly private. In a sense he was more vulnerable: he'd never considered it enough to recognize the signs. He was so terribly solitary.
Then I knew what my plot would have to be, what situation would work for him. I wrote it down fast, before the impulse of the story disappeared, surfing it like a wave, shaping it as I would an essay but instead of it being my ideas that I was shaping, I was shaping what has sprung out of my conversation with him. That was the difference.
I hope this is helpful.
These days I rarely have to interview my characters unless they are OCs (I've interviewed Torvald and a few others), but that process awakened a child-like quality of playing make-believe. The characters have come to life. Sometime inconveniently, sometimes astounding me.
Icarus