I saw a photo of me and the kids--well, 'twas just David
and baby Rachel at the time--circa 2006 or 07, I think it was. My hair was darker
than it is now, at any rate.
Around the time I took David to one of the Harry Potter movies
and when we emerged and I observed his sense of wonder at the magical world
into which he had for the past two hours traveled, I determined that I would
write a story for him, something also magical, with none other than David
himself at the center of whatever world(s) I might conjure. I told him about it,
made a promise that it would be written.
Soon thereafter a storyline fell into my head--it would
be a YA Fantasy, and have some pretty damn cool elements. But I remembered
hearing Michael Crichton talk about how Jurassic Park--though the dinos naturally
provided the hook and stole the show--was more than anything about Chaos
Theory, and, of course, the people whose lives were profoundly impacted.
So I knew there needed to be more than magic and fantastical elements at
the heart of my story, and it was immediately evident to me what that would be.
From the moment she'd arrived, David had been protective of his little sister. Once
at a birthday party at a park I was with the kids and Rachel--not yet two--was
playing in a field. I may have been distracted by my phone or whatever else but
I recall a look of concern spreading over David's face and he gave me that
split-second "you're the father aren't you going to do something"
look before realizing I was clueless and rushing over to his sister. An
enormous, buzzing bee--unbeknownst to her--was circling just above her. David
had always had a pretty healthy fear of them, probably accentuated by his
cognizance that his grandmother and therefore possibly he, was extremely
allergic to their stings. But seeing that not only had his father not yet
pieced together what was unfolding but that even if in that moment I had, it
would now be too late, he shot in, scooped Rachel up in his arms just as the
angry insect prepared to alight upon her,
and backpedaled quickly out of harm's way.
A small thing, perhaps, but it moved my heart. He
understood that his actions could be injurious to himself; so too did he
understand that inaction could prove catastrophic for the little sister he'd
already come to watch over with such vigilance and care.
And there it was, the heartbeat of my tale.
The Awakening
of David Rose.
I wrote in dribs and drabs and fits and starts but never
really got any traction until about three years ago. I finally finished a draft
and then a few more until last night I finished what I hope were final revisions(significant ones, anyway). I took
about nine months to do so, partly because the whole working full-time, three
kids thing, you know--but also because I was trying to get this right, really
improve it. I hope I did. Whatever is better owes in large part to my editor,
the amazing
Ally Bishop, and my
dear friend, freakishly-talented scribe and amazing beta-reader
Amira Makansi. Whatever is not, is my
fault alone. I am grateful to Booktrope for being my publisher and giving me
and this story a chance.
A few quick observations, as I look back. Most books on
writing that I read said that it is typical to end up paring around 20% of your
manuscript's original length. Those who know me know becoming 20% less wordy is
no small feat for me--alas, when I clicked save last night I'd indeed gone from
100,000(too long for YA) words, to just fewer than 80,000. I found things to
pare and improve every single time I went through it. Commas and adverbs
suffered the greatest annihilation, and rightly so.
One of the biggest things I wrestled with(was one of the
key aspects of Ally and Amira's sage feedback) was the need to have my protag take at
least a little bit of the lead in all that is happening. That sounds simple and
obvious enough, but the fact is I knew this story was the first in a series and
deals largely with a young man trying desperately to cope with the crazy things
unfolding around him and the unseen, sinister forces which have pursued him
through the centuries to this day. A story of a good kid whose family has
endured a trauma and it’s all he can do to try to look after his little sister
and deal with normal teen angst, much less deal with this ethereal, mysterious
stuff beginning to effervesce around him. Of course, the problem is, it is
becoming less and less ethereal and more and more real and that indeed becomes a
key source of tension: we must always present what our characters most want, as
well as what stands in the way. David wants more than anything to take care of
his sister and to find the truth about what really happened to their mom—but all
these crazy, dark, fantastical things
are proving one hell of a distraction.
But of course Ally and Amira were right---a protag is not much
of a protag—even a kid—if he is little more
than an always- reacting milquetoast. So I endeavored to transform that aspect
at least in part. Not radically, because one of the most important aspects to
me in all this was that I wanted David to be a “normal” teen—albeit one confronting
some pretty heavy and now increasingly strange, things—and it wouldn’t be terribly
normal for him to just readily accept and take in stride, all these
extraordinary things that until now would have struck him and most rational beings
as impossible(Amira in fact stressed this point to me in her inimitable way as
well, telling me I needed more of that “holy shit” element for David when the
shit, so to speak, really goes down. She will be pleased to know that I not
only worked to improve this but also at the 11th hour in fact
inserted that very phrase). So, given all David is dealing with and given typical
human reaction to the seemingly impossible, it made more sense to me that he
would indeed be on his heels a bit. That said, it was of course necessary to
the development of his character and the arc of the story to have him gradually
take the reins a bit as he comes to understand and accept a bit of what’s
happening, and its implications. That necessity was also a golden opportunity to
mine the character more deeply than I had—whether that translated effectively to
the page others shall decide but I enjoyed the process. Part of this process
included injecting a bit more of a sense of mystery, and some scenes where
David and his friends set about trying to do a little investigation concerning
his mother’s purported death a year ago. David increasingly suspects whatever happened to her is linked to these other
mysterious developments but whether it is or not he is determined to discover the
truth about her either way—a resolve which in itself tells us he will no longer
accept just being acted upon. Their sleuthing must occur in rather clandestine
fashion, owing not only to the topic, but also to the fact that David’s father
remains adamantly opposed to what he believes are his son’s(understandable,
given the trauma) conspiracy theories. So this afforded me an additional layer
of conflict to mine.
Each time through I had to really assess voice. Mine leans
heavily toward the literary and of course this was YA. I remain, however stubbornly,
convinced that we needn’t patronize or dumb things down for young readers—but there
is of course a difference between doing that and being too florid and stuffy in
one’s prose. So, I made some inroads there—whether sufficiently, we’ll have to
see. I have a few pretty aristocratic
kinda British characters in there, and even one of David’s friends who upon
first glance may speak “above” the typical fifteen year old is in fact based
loosely on a friend of mine who spoke a bit that way. Part of the fun of it, I
think, is seeking that elusive balance of an overall voice which resonates with
most readers, yet also sprinkling in some quirky touches, even if that includes
a kid in a wheelchair with who thinks and speaks like a young Sherlock Holmes (and
yes, those who know me shall be unsurprised to know I have that character articulate
a preference for Poe’s Dupin).
I like both. In
any case, this journey for me has been anything but “elementary.” My hair is a
lot grayer than on that evening I made a promise to my son. We have been blessed
with another son in the time since the story was conceived (Rachel reminds me
frequently that I MUST include Daniel somehow in the sequels. She also reminds
me I must give her a bow and arrows in one of the stories too). David has
likely forgotten that night, and Rachel has become much more interested in the
story, and has become a budding and extraordinary literary soul herself. But I
hope both will read it, and like it. They are its heartbeat, after all. I hope you might read it and like it too. If
nothing else, nearly a decade later but what the hell, it is a promise
fulfilled, and that feels pretty good.
