Catastrophe Kit by Carla Damron

I’ve written before about my excellent catastrophizing genes. Our DNA carries a “expect the worst and plan for it” marker. It seems to be tied to the X chromosome, though my brother has some of this trait. If there’s a hurricane that is predicted to hit anywhere near SC, I assume it will hit us directly, so my “hurricane survival kit” is always kept up-to-date. It includes flashlights, power banks, water containers, battery operated fans …. The list is lengthy. I even fill our tubs for toilet flushing, in case we lose water.

When meteorologists predict we’ll get a half- inch of snow, I make sure the cupboards are full and we have plenty of batteries, in case ice brings down a tree limb that knocks out our power. You never know when the “big one” will hit us (we had a blizzard in the 1970s).

My catastrophizing genes let me down this year. I did not, in my wildest imaginings, predict a pandemic. Not until February, when word of an outbreak in China made the news. By March, the gene was in overdrive. The pandemic was imminent, and I was behind in my preparations. Though a little late, I began assembling my pandemic kit. I bought gloves. I scored a few masks and started reading about how to make my own (a project that never went well). I bought medicines we needed and medicines we might need. I emptied freezer space so that we could stock-up, in case getting groceries became impossible.

By April, I was obsessive in my assemblage. Toilet paper? Check, though I didn’t overdo it. There’s a difference between “preparing” and “hording”. Hand sanitizer? Some, but I also had the ingredients needed to make my own. Lysol? Yep, but I wish, to this day, I’d bought more. Bleach? Definitely, but not for drinking. Wipes? Of course. Dog poop bags? Plenty.

You’re probably wondering about that last item. I didn’t want to run out of rubber gloves, so we used them on our hands when touching possibly contaminated surfaces, like ATMs and credit card devices. 

Our pandemic groceries included enough coffee to last till the next Ice Age, milk (we freeze it), rice, beans, and, just in case, wine. I bought plenty of flour and yeast, in case I turn into a colonial prairie woman and have to make my own bread. Dog and cat food aplenty.

Whenever info came out about something that might be useful to prevent/combat the coronavirus, I was likely to get it. So I have zinc, Vitamin C, Vitamin D3. I’d get a voodoo doll if I thought that would help.

Now that we’re five months into pandemic life, I’ve made adjustments to our kit. Dog poop bags are less necessary—keeping hand sanitizer with us always works just as well. I’ve added face shields and have collected quite the range of masks in lots of different colors. Yep, that kit is loaded. I am prepared.

Except… there is one aspect of this crisis for which I wasn’t prepared. Not at all. I wasn’t ready for the most inevitable effect of the pandemic: what to do about the sameness of my days—the boredom? How do I manage the feelings of unreality and grief for the way life used to be? How do I take care of my emotional health? Trust me, there’s nothing in my kit that helps with this.

Through trial and error, I’ve figured out how to manage. I need routine. I get up, read for an hour or so, dress in clothes that aren’t pajamas, then get to writing. I touch base with friends and my family. I get out of the house when the weather allows it. I make sure to exercise every day. 

And then I read some more. I’ve also been careful about the books I choose. I can’t seem to handle ultra-serious or too-sad stories. I put aside a few literary novels and picked up some wonderful mysteries—the perfect escapism literature. Lately, I’m plowing through Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache series. I imagine that I live in Three Pines, Quebec, and that the quirky residents are my neighbors. There’s a fluffy blanket of snow in front of my house and I’m sipping cider at the bistro. While the real world may not be a fair place, I can trust that the culprits in Penny’s novels will not escape Gamache’s justice. This is my much-needed sanctuary in a world spun off its axis.

As a writer, I want my work to be a sanctuary. I want readers to embrace my characters the way I embrace Gamache. Maybe that’s grandiose thinking—I’m nowhere near her caliber or popularity, but we writers need to have goals.

My goal is this: may my words be a refuge, my settings an escape. May I take you away from the hard reality of today and give you a few hours of respite. May the adventures in my pages help you forget our new dystopian reality and perhaps even give you hope.

Better times will come. We must be patient.

One last thing: this is my last regular blog on this site. Thank you for taking the time to read my ramblings. If you want to stay in touch, my website is www.carladamron.com and my email is carladamronwriter@gmail.com.

Peace and be well.

           

Backstory-itis by Carla Damron

I just completed a rewrite of my novel! (Cue the parade, the fireworks, and the champagne corks popping to the ceiling!) This has been one of the most challenging journeys of my writing career. I blame it on the pandemic, which has polluted everything about our lives, including my creative process. I write every day, but the words don’t flow--they stutter. My focus scrambles on other things: I’ll work on this online jigsaw puzzle. Should I vacuum? A quick check of Facebook again. What’s happened in the news? (The unrelenting, God-awful news). All this prevents me from zeroing in on the page in progress.

But despite all this mind clutter, I COMPLETED a draft! At this phase of my wacky process, I like to listen to my words, so I have the computer, or my Kindle, read it aloud to me. Right away, I heard a problem, and it was a big one: I had developed a severe case of backstory-itis.

For those of you who don’t know, backstory is the history of the character, or the what-happened-before in terms of scene. Most writers I know struggle with this in one form or another. Beginning writers want to load the opening with backstory details: The reader MUST want to know where my opening character was born, who her parents were, and what her favorite childhood memory is! or Let me just explain the history of this town, including that Civil War battle, and the time the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile drove through. I know this because I’ve done it.

As we mature in our craft, we understand that most backstory is simply what WE understand about the character or the situation. While I discovered  that my protagonist had a distant relationship with her father and was completely traumatized by the death of a pet at age twelve, I use that information to make her real on the page. I may never mention it in text. If I do, it will appear at a carefully crafted time: When the reader has grown curious enough about her to wonder. When tension can be amplified by the painful memory.  When what happens in the scene makes more sense in the context of a preceding incident.

Yet here I am with this rewrite, and backstory is polluting the first fifty pages! I know better than this!

I understand how it happened. I gave an introductory chapter to a writing group and they peppered me with questions: Why does she act like she doesn’t care? How could she afford that kind of car? Where did she come from? I mistakenly thought I should answer them, so I did. I inserted backstory into the narrative and, as a result, slowed the momentum to a disastrous halt.

It is fixable. The chapter will be much more engaging to the reader when he/she has the same questions my writing group did—but they have to wait for the answers. They will come as they get closer to the character and begin to understand her odd circumstances. And maybe, it will come in a flashback (I know some of you HATE flashbacks, but bear with me)—probably a single, pivotal moment—that highlights how desperate she once was and reveals what it took for her to become the survivor she is now.

So sorry, online jigsaw puzzle and Facebook, it looks like I’ll be tied up with a backstory-ectomy for quite a while.

What do you think about backstory? How do you judiciously insert it?

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It's Super Tuesday, Y'all! by Carla Damron

Allow me to get political for a moment.

Today is Super Tuesday. If you live in one of these states: Alabama, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Maine, Massachusetts, Minnesota, North Carolina, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, or Virginia, then your primary is being held today. Our primary in SC happened this past Saturday.

Of course, if your primary is today, you know that already. It’s been mentioned in the news about fifty-seven million times. And you may have noticed a political commercial or two. Zillion. It can be overwhelming, and if you’re like me, you’ll be glad when it’s all over and things settle down for a few months.

Still, if there’s a primary for your party, I hope you’ll take the time to vote. I tend to be a political person, and, when canvasing for the candidate I liked, I knocked on doors and said, “I hope you’ll vote in the primary. I’d like to share my opinion about MY candidate, but even if you’re not voting for them, I hope you’ll go to the poll and cast your ballot.”

Voting is the only real way we have a voice in how our government is run. Sure, we can express our opinions on social media, and write letters to our lawmakers (I’m pen pals with plenty of them!) but honestly, those actions have little influence. My real voice is my ballot. 

The primary is the first step. The election in November, is the second, most crucial one.

My friend has adult children—intelligent, professional people—who don’t vote. Why, I often wonder. Do they feel there’s no point? That the decision has already been made so why bother? Do they not care? Do they think all politicians are evil, so it doesn’t matter who’s in charge? How many in their generation feel the same way?

Maybe it’s too inconvenient? I know the current election may involve long lines at polling places. I hope it does, because it means people are INVOLVED. Here is my advice to make your election day go as smoothly as possible:

1) Don't arrive hungry. Eat a good meal before braving the line.

2)    Pick a time that isn’t the busiest. Mid-morning might work, if your job allows it.

3)    Make sure you have the right ID. Nothing worse than arriving to vote and realizing you can’t!

4)    Do prep work: read what’s on the ballot before you get there, especially if there are long, confusing propositions. Visit vote411.org for info on your specific election.

 5) If you know you’ll be there a long time, BRING A BOOK AND A CAMP CHAIR. I did that last time. I could use the chair up until I reached the actual voting area. You might read Love in the Lowcountry or Mid-Century Murder, collections that feature stories by our favorite bloggers  

      6)  Remember that you don’t have to vote on everything. If there’s a commissioner of agriculture election and you know nothing about the candidates, SKIP that part. If you don’t give a rip about the referendum on homestead municipal property taxes, move on. It’s OKAY to do that.

In writing, we talk a lot about VOICE, how it’s the unique aspect of your writing and can be crucial to the success of your project.

Whether you’re a writer or not, voting is YOUR VOICE. This is a critical year for our country. The stakes are high, and you deserve to have a say in how things turn out. So please, please, vote in the primary, and then vote in November. Let your voice be heard.

Paid for by CarlaDamronBelievesinVoting.

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