What's In a Name? That Which We Call a Rose By Any Other Name...

(Yes, my Shakespeare class is proving helpful, LOL.)

Names are something I've always loved. Not even solely for writing- I just love names. And choosing names for characters in my stories/scripts can sometimes be an arduous process, as they not only need to match the character's personality, but they need to roll of the tongue, especially in a script. This includes their last name, and sometimes, on the rare occassion I bring up their middle name, that, too. It becomes more complicated if a character is married and for some reason I bring up their maiden name or they get married in the middle of the story (which I think I may have only done once. I write mostly YA, so marriage is not really a theme in my stories.) If they have siblings, their names must also sound good together.

Lately I've been getting lucky with names- my characters are just naming themselves! This is almost as interesting as carefully choosing names for them, as the names they pick are not ones that I would normally go for. For example, Pauline. Not a huge fan of the name, but Pauline wanted to be Pauline and so, she is. Same with Eliza and her friend Jonah. I never thought those two names would appear in my writing, but they're there with top billing in Q/Quarantined.

Here are some of my favorite names I've used over the years (mostly girls', as they tend to be my main characters):

-Marianne (script)
-Ruthie Halpert (Remembrance. I'd wanted to use the last name for years before I finally found a first name- and a character- that fit it.)
-Noah Halpert (Remembrance- Ruthie's little brother)
-Claire (script)
-Caleb (script)
-Adam (script)
-Amy (script- Adam's sister. It was not until the script was completed that I realised their names together were nearly the name of a currently famous actress [who also happens to be one of my favorites].)
-Lyddie Palmer (The Other Side of Light)
-Julie Palmer (The Other Side of Light, Lyddie's sister)
-Thomas Callum Flynn (Caroline. Yes, I had to put his full name, a) because it sounds so good and b) because I am in love with him.)
-Caroline Eberlee (title character, though the title will not always be her name.)
-Alexis Holt (script)
-Jack Brennan (same script. He dates Alexis.)
-Claire Medina (different Claire, different script.)
-Lexa Harris (last year's failed NaNo novel)
-Drew Donovan (same thing. Lexa's friend- and love interest.)

And those are just the main characters! What are some of your favorite names?

(I'm trying to get up the nerve to post something from a WIP tomorrow... I admire those who have the courage to post them more regularly.)

Chapter Fifteen: In Which I Return

Word Count: 26,008/50,000

Wow, Reader- it has been a crazy, crazy couple of days. Beginning on Tuesday, I had a whirlwing of stage management duties as we opened and closed our show- in fact, I've just returned from striking the last one.

But I promised I wouldn't talk about that stuff on here. This blog is about WRITING. So let's talk about writing. Today, I'd like to discuss some of my writing inspirations. Here they are:




LIBBA BRAY: A bundle of awesomeness (and I know- I've met her) in both person and writing. I don't really know what it is about her books, but all of them are so incredibly well-written. While I prefer the gothic-ness of the Gemma Doyle Trilogy, Going Bovine was funny, touching, and shocking. I supposed I like her writing because it's so fearless... and yet, she's admitted to crying while writing it. She's a brave writer, I suppose, and I strive to be like that. I also love her dark humor- Gemma and I are like twins in our sarcasm.



MAUREEN JOHNSON: Another awesome YA writer. I love Maureen's writing style. Her humor is always laced into the story but in a different way each time- Jane in Devilish is a darker than Scarlett in Suite Scarlett who is much different than Ginny in 13 Little Blue Envelopes. I have yet to be disappointed by one of her books. She is so skilled at mixing quirky comedy with serious dramatic events- such as the death of May's father in The Key to the Golden Firebird- in oe book. I admire her so much!



IAN MCEWAN: I've only read one of this books, Atonement (and yes, before the movie came out!) and I love his attention to detail. He is also in the category of fearless writer. Amazing.



EMMA THOMPSON: Wonderful actress, yes, and just as wonderful of a writing. Her adaptation of Sense and Sensibility is so great and Nanny McPhee was a great film too. I really want to do what she does- act AND write.


DAVID AUBURN: Playwright, author of Proof. I love Proof- it's so true to life. I just love how true his dialogue is.



NEIL SIMON & TOM DUDZICK: Amazing amazing amazing. Dudzick has often been called "the Catholic Neil Simon" and it's so true. They write completely real scenes with real life problems and are funny as they do it.



There are a bunch of other writers that I admire, but those are the main ones. I strive to their level of greatness.


Now, even though I have been crazy busy with the show, the great thing about being the stage manager of this show was that I didn't have to do anything. Most shows have lots of light and sound cues throughout the show that the SM has to call, but since I didn't have any, I wrote. That's at least an hour and a half of writing- usually around five pages or so- for four days, and on these last two, we did two shows a day. And wow, did I get a lot of writing done. I am ahead of the recommended word count.


My novel keeps getting darker and darker... maybe it's because of the show I was writing during (The Exonerated... lots of death), but my poor main character, Ruthie, has now been tortured. It is not pretty, and I don't know where it's coming from.


Now, an excerpt:



For a week, life went on as usual, which struck Ruthie as incredible. How could they all manage to forget what had begun just seven days before? How could they forget that every second, their lives were at risk?
She wondered, and yet she did it too. She talked and laughed with Nora and Annie. She teased her brother. She complained about small things like homework and chores when people were making much greater sacrifices not so far away. And when she swore she saw Jimmy in the library and the soda shop and grocer’s, she told herself that it was just her imagination and looked in the other direction.
As much as everyone managed to return to their normal lives, however, there were reminders of the losses that had already been suffered all over the city. The buildings that had been hit were still in shambles. Ruthie overheard someone on the street say it could take months to clean up the wreak age, and only if no other buildings fell victim to the Germans. The air raid drills were constant and could happen at any moment. People were now using the underground as a make shift shelter and sometimes, the people waiting down there had to sleep in the station over night. Each time she walked home or to school or to the store or the cinema, Ruthie prayed that she would not have to run down to the tube station and take cover.
There were also the posters. Since the bombing, missing persons posters had gone up all over the city, tied to telephone poles and tree trunks, pinned to community bulletin boards. Some had even been shoved through the Halperts’ mail slot so that when one of the family entered, they would see someone’s black and white photograph staring up at them from the floor. Ruthie always studied these blurry pictures closely. If she saw one of these people on the streets, she wanted to be able to recognize them. She did not know what she would do if this did happen one day – certainly shouting, “I found you!” or chasing them would do no one any good. But this was a dilemma she had not yet faced. Though she tried to look at every face she passed, none of them were those lost people in the pictures. She looked especially hard for Jimmy and Arthur Henderson. Her heart hurt every time she passed one of their flyers, with “HAVE YOU SEEN THESE CHILDREN?” written in large letters above the brothers’ smiling school photographs.
It was the pictures themselves that made the posters so upsetting. While the word missing reminded you that that person was no longer at school or at work or sitting at the dinner table with their family, Ruthie was bothered by the grins, smirks, and shy smiles that looked out at her from the paper. When she looked at those faces, she remembered that these were past events – this person, this parent, child, brother, aunt, might not be smiling like that anymore. Whenever these thoughts came over Ruthie, she could not help picturing those people with scared expressions. What must they be feeling now? Or were they not feeling at all?

Chapter Three: NaNo Headquarters

Word Count: 12,455/50,000

Though my NaNo novel lives in Microsoft Word, the real NaNoWriMo headquarters are located at http://www.nanowrimo.org/. On this site, there are updates, pep talks, author profiles, personal profiles, and much, much more. I love going on this site and I generally have it up 24/7 (along with Facebook).

My favorite part of the site is probably the forums. On the forums, there are many initial categories to choose from, everything from your novel's genre, a clubhouse for distressed writers (as well as one for triumphant ones), and categories for Character & Plot Realism and Plot Doctoring. Even when I'm not waiting for an answer myself, I love reading other posts. People have so much knowledge and some of the topics are not only very interesting, but they help me out, too. I guess that's probably why they make it forum style rather than saying, "So and So knows a lot about the justice system, so send all your questions to her!", they make all answers availible to everyone. It's fantastic.


And now, since I don't have a lot to say on that topic, another excerpt.



Ruthie looked around for her two best friends and spotted them standing by the entrance. After making sure Noah was headed in the direction of the lower school, Ruthie rushed over to them.
“You’re late,” Nora Savidge pointed out as Ruthie took her place next to them.
“We haven’t got a clock in our shelter yet. We got up so late that I had to wear a dress that my mum had brought down – and she got it out of a box to hand down to my cousin!”
Annie Payson giggled as she straightened her hair clip. “I didn’t think I’d seen you in it since the year before last.”
Ruthie looked around at her fellow students, all talking intently. “Is everyone talking about the air raid last night?”
“Of course,” said Anne. “It was the scariest thing that’s ever happened! I thought our shelter would be hit any minute.”
“I was worried that a bomb would go off five streets over and just the wind itself would blow our shelter over,” Nora remarked wryly. “I think my dad just propped two pieces of metal against each other and put a door in front of them.”
“Your dad is a teacher,” Ruthie pointed out. “It’s not like he’s ever had to do it before.” Nora opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, the bell rang and the students began to rush into the building, still chattering about what had happened the night before.
As Ruthie took her seat in the classroom, she noticed that Jimmy Henderson’s seat next to hers was empty. At first, she didn’t think much of it- it was not unusual for him to be too busy plying a prank to make it to class on time. But his seat was still empty when her teacher, Miss Whittaker, called the class to order and Ruthie began to worry.
“Class,” Miss Whittaker said, standing in front of her desk as her students took their seats again. “Miss Burns has an announcement she would like to make. Please give her your full attention.” Ruthie’s teacher stepped aside to give the school’s wide – girthed principal the floor. The form rose and waited. Miss Burns was silent for a moment as she surveyed the students, her lips pursed and her stern eyebrows pinched together.
“You may be seated,” she said distractedly. “I am afraid I have some bad news, children,” she began. “As you must all be aware, we have been having air raid drills here for the past few months in case the school was attacked. Last night’s air raid gave you a taste of what could happen during school hours, and I do not doubt that many of you were frightened. In any emergency situation, some unfortunate things can happen, and I regret to inform you that such a thing happened during last night’s raid.”
The class was confused. While many of them had been frightened during the air raid, it was over now. What after effects could have a part in their lives?
Several buildings were destroyed by the bombs that fell, one of them being the flats on Wannamaker Street. The Henderson family was a resident of this building.”
There were a few soft gasps as the class turned to stare at Jimmy’s empty desk. A heaviness seemed to fall over the room as the principal’s words sunk in.
“What happened to them, Miss Burns?” a girl named Evelyn asked softly. It was a mark of the seriousness of the situation that Miss Burns did not reprimand Evelyn for neglecting to raise her hand.
“I regret to say that, though Mr. and Mrs. Henderson and their youngest child were found unharmed, the authorities were unable to located James and his brother Arthur.”
“But they’re just… I don’t know, lost of something, right?” said a boy named Roger. “Maybe they ran to get help and couldn’t find their way home.”
Miss Burns’ mouth grew tight. “We can only hope that is the case, Mr. Jennings. There are people looking for the boys as well as a few others, and you can be sure that if they are indeed still alive, they will be found.” And with that, Miss Burns nodded to Miss Whittaker and left the room. But she did not take with her the grim silence that had fallen over the students as soon as she said the words “still alive”. Ruthie glanced again at Jimmy’s empty eat. She couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around the idea that someone she knew might really be gone forever. Could it be that this boy, this noisy, wise – cracking fourteen year old, had already reached the end of his life the night before? Was his body lying in wait of the search party? Or might he be gone completely, never to be found by anyone at all?
Ruthie shook her head, trying to rid it of these thought. Jimmy could take care of himself, she was sure of that. They would find him. By next week, she told herself, he’d be sitting next to her again, folding up paper airplanes in his lap and grinning that sideways smile of his. He would be, because Ruthie couldn’t accept anything else.

Chapter Two: Writing Essentials

Word Count: 10,725/50,000

I'm a Type A person, so when I'm writing, I tend to prefer certain things over others and stick to those.

While I generally prefer writing on my laptop because it's faster and neater, I love to look at filled pages of handwriting, knowing that I just created that. Also, as I've unfortunately discovered more than once, things can go wrong with one's computer and entire documents can be deleted. When your creation is on paper, stuff like that rarely happens unless you've got Amy March as your little sister.

Putting Pen to Paper: When I'm writing in longhand, I used lined paper and a black pen. The ink must be black or I can't write. Red or sometimes purple are for corrections and blue is forbidden... I have a weird thing against blue ink. Blue pens included in packs of black and red are wasted on me. I tend to write in cursive because when I'm writing quickly, my printing becomes illegible, and though I tell myself I'll remember what it says later, I don't always and then I'm left turnin the paper every which way holding it at arm's length and squinting.

J'ai Faim: I wish I could say there was some kind of food or drink that was my writing food/beverage, but alas, I have none. Honestly, though I have a water bottle within arm's reach, I don't do a lot of eating or drinking while I'm writing because I don't type well with one hand and it decreases my speed. I did just polish off some delicious hot chocolate, though (I don't like coffee).

A Lightbulb Moment: When I'm writing, I like having good light. Perhaps I use the artificial light to make me feel like the one in my head is burning brightly, too, but I think it also makes me concentrate and focus on what I'm doing. I tend to stray when light is bad.

Burning the Midnight Oil: My best writing time is very very early in the morning. I am a night person, so it's not unusual for me to be up until two in the morning writing or doing whatever. My rule at school is that I must go to bed before 3 am, and so far, a year and two or so months into my college education, I have kept to that rule.

I also write well, um... during classes. Well, perhaps not well, but I do do a lot of writing during my classes in my notebooks. I know, I know, I should be paying attention to my expensive education, but sometimes the urge to write is just too strong.

Play it Again, Sam: As I think I mentioned yesterday, I like to listen to music when I write, but I rarely write to music with lyrics, as I tend to write the lyrics I hear rather than my story. My favorite go-to writing music is the Atonement soundtrack. Something about that typewriter noise integrated into the music...

So those are my writing essentials. Now I am going to take the plunge and give you a taste of Remembrance. This is part of the opening. I hope you'll enjoy.

London, England

September 1940

Ruthie Halpert jumped out of bed as soon as she heard the sirens wailing. A quick glance out her window told her that it was the dead of night. She tripped over her shoes as she raced out into the hallway and to another door. She pounded on it.

“Noah!” she called, hoping her brother had already been awakened by the noise. “Noah!” She pounded harder. To her relief, the door flew open and nine–year–old Noah stood there in his blue and white striped pajamas, hair tousled from sleep. He looked scared.

“What’s going on?” he asked, eyes wide.

“It’s all right,” Ruthie said, trying to sound braver than she felt. “I’m sure it’s just a drill. We need to find Mum and Dad.”

But there was no need, because at that moment, Maureen and Leonard Halpert’s bedroom door flew open and they hurried out, robes thrown haphazardly on over their pajamas.

“It’s all right,” soothed Ruthie’s mother even as she pushed her children toward the staircase. “Quickly, to the back garden.”

The family burst out of the house and ran across the damp grass. In the distance, Ruthie could see bursts of light as bombs fell on the city. A sound like distant thunder reached her ears. She didn’t realised she had stopped, transfixed, until her mother shouted to hurry.

Ruthie joined the rest of her family as they hurried across the garden. There, waiting in the dark, was the shelter Mr. Halpert had finished only days before. Being an engineer, it was more skillfully made than it might have been otherwise. He threw open the doors, which were laid into a small hill, and ushered his wife and children inside. Once he, too, had descended the short flight of stairs, he slammed the doors shut. All was darkness for a second as the family tried to catch their breath. Then a small light came on. Huddled on one of the beds with Noah, Ruthie saw her father’s half – lit face illuminated by the lantern.

“There’s a lantern on your right, Ruthie, if you want to turn that on, as well,” he said. Ruthie felt around carefully and located a table and on it, a lamp. She turned a small knob and a flame grew inside the globe, brightening the room further. She looked around, not having seen the shelter since its beginning stages. She and Noah were sitting on one of two narrow cots. Shelves were built along the back wall and held canned foods and blankets. Gas masks rested on a table against the wall. Ruthie had seen demonstrations of how to wear the masks at school, and she thought they made people look like aliens.

“I wish you could have seen the shelter finished before we actually had to use it. I assure you that we will be safe down here. I got the most comfortable cots I could so you two can still get some rest -”

“We have to sleep down here?!” Noah’s voice was high with fear. He clutched Ruthie tighter.

“We have to stay down here until we’re sure it’s safe,” Mrs. Halpert said soothingly. “We have blankets and pillows so it will be warm and comfortable. We’ll be all right.”

Noah eyed the gas masks. “Do we have to wear those?”

“Not tonight, honey,” their mother assured him. “Now how about we all try to get back to sleep?” She patted the bed on the other side of the small room. It took Noah only four steps to cross to it. Ruthie took down two blankets from the shelves, then hesitated.

“Where are you and Dad sleeping?” she asked. She and Noah might fit on one of the cots together, but the beds were far too narrow for two grown adults to share, or even one adult and one child.

Mrs. Halpert took one of the blankets from her daughter’s hands and unfolded it, spreading it over Noah’s cot. “Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine. You and your brother have school tomorrow, so you need your rest.”

Ruthie arranged her own blanket on her bed and took one of the small, thin pillows from the shelf. She pulled back the scratchy wool blanket and crawled underneath it. It smelled strange, not like her quilt in her room. She turned on her side and watched her mother tucking an identical blanket around her brother.

Outside, there was the continuing thunder – like sound. Ruthie expected to have trouble falling asleep, but as soon as she closed her eyes, she was sound asleep.

Now I think it's time for me to get some sleep before school tomorrow. 'Night, everyone!