About writing Cross Roads (Part 2)

This is the other half of the previous post, About writing Cross Roads. It finishes my explination about how and why I wrote my first novel.

That was what I decided to call How It Started. It was a guide for me, of all the things, large and small, that would become anecdotes in the actual story that was coming later. Finished with that, I turned off the computer and got my kids off to school. The baby was up by then, and I got her fed and spent some time being a mom.

When nap time came, though, Jessie was there again, politely demanding my attention. She asked me to sit down at the computer for the second time that long day, and being curious as to what she would tell me, I did. That was really the true beginning of Cross Roads, as Jessie talked, I typed. I was surprised when the baby woke up, what seemed like only a few minutes later, to discover that I’d typed thirteen pages.

It continued like that, in one voice or another, for the next six weeks approximately. There was a short break in there, when I didn’t work on the story at all. I knew that I’d done something wrong with it, but everybody was quiet in my brain for the first time since they’d all showed up. It was almost weird, not hearing even one of them prompting me to write down some important thing or other that they’d said, lest it be forgotten, but also very nice. After all, I’m not really crazy, and I just couldn’t get used to hearing other voices then my own, inside my head.

I realized that, in my hurry to get down what they were trying to tell me, I’d gotten it wrong, and they were unhappy about that. So I went back through my manuscript, searching for the incorrect information. It took a couple of days, but I finally pinpointed it. When I did, I asked them to tell me how it was wrong, and Caleb spoke up. This time, I paid closer attention, and got it down right. I felt better immediately, better but also a little overwhelmed.

After fixing that error, I sat at the computer for almost thirteen hours straight, typing frantically. Thankfully my husband was off work that day, so he dealt with the kids and dinner. As I typed that time, a new voice spoke up in my head. Just where he’d been all along, I still have no idea. Though late, Toby became a major character, and spoke often. Just not usually about himself, I’m still learning new things about him, even now.

I wrote an amazing forty-seven pages that day. Amazing for me, because I couldn’t type more then hunt and peck. I still don’t do it the right way, but I’ve gotten incredibly fast doing it my way now.

That was the first marathon writing session of many, and the longest. After that, I finished the story in about two weeks. It took me another two weeks to get it to where I thought it was as polished as I could personally make it. Then another week to get it to where it is now. After I received a request from a literary agent for the first five chapters, I decided to look at my story again, just to be sure that it was ready, that’s where the last week of editing came in.

Along the way, there were times that I was deeply affected by the things that my characters told me. I remember being alone in the car on my way over to pick up one of my nephews, and as I drove, Tyler spoke up and told me what he was planning to do, and I cried. Silly, you say, and I’m sure you’re right, but I was already so attached to my people, that it really upset me.

There were other things that they told me that made me laugh, or confused me, sometimes I got angry with them, and sometimes I was so happy that I could have cried again. My nephew Josh asked me once,

“Aunt Christie, why can’t you just write the story how you want it to go? Aren’t you the author?”

My answer to him then (and it’s still the only one I have), was that, as weird as it sounds, I’m not the author, merely the storyteller. It might sound like I’m trying to be philosophical or deep, but I honestly don’t have any other answer. The story is what it is, I just took it from the mouths of my characters and repeated it for everyone to hear.

So, if that’s insanity, then I guess I need some serious help, that’s what my son thinks. Then again, most teenaged boys think their parents are crazy. All I know is, I’m very grateful for the chance to know the people in my story. If someone will pay me for that, it’s all gravy. If they won’t, it doesn’t change anything. I’ve still heard this incredible story, and I’ll find a way to turn it into a book on my bookshelf so that I can read it as many times as I like.

About writing Cross Roads (Part 1)

A little note before you read this. As silly as it sounds, this is how the process felt to me as I wrote.

Some of my family members & friends have asked me how I got started writing this novel. They wondered if I’d had some idea, or concept of what I would write before I got started. The answer to that, is no. Actually, what happened was, my husband and I were getting ready to do some running around, (pay some bills, stop by the junk yard to look for a grill for his truck, that sort of thing) and I felt the urge to bring along paper and a pen.

I don’t usually write long hand, typing is so much faster, but I felt like I needed to write something, and I wanted to spend the day with Lee, so I improvised. I had no idea what it would be, but as I sat in the parking lot of the junk yard, waiting for my husband, I started writing. It might sound like insanity to some, but it felt comfortable to me. As I wrote, it was like somebody was in my head telling me what to write, not whispering in my ear, but actually inside my head.

That was Jessie Stanton. As I wrote, she told me all about herself. Everything; from her first, middle, and last name, and date of birth, to her favorite foods, the things she liked to do, her unrequited love for Tyler, her love of watching scary movies only with Caleb (and why). Like I said, she told me everything. It got a little hard to hear her when my husband came out of the junk yard victorious, and tried to tell me the whole fascinating story of his great find, but I tried still to hear them both.

After Jessie stopped talking, and that took some time, I thought I was done with the voices in my head. Wrong. Caleb came out then, and spoke to me in his quiet way, introducing himself in much the same way that Jessie had. Though I did have to prompt him from time to time, he wasn’t as talkative as she had been.

So it wasn’t a surprise to me then, when Tyler interrupted Caleb to introduce himself, the person he considered the true star of the story that was coming together in my head. I couldn’t shut him up at first, he was a very big talker. Fortunately, I was home typing by now, and distracted by my three oldest children fighting and arguing, to the point that I had to abandon any thought of writing.

I had decided to sit down and write a short biography on each of my characters as soon as I realized what they were, so that night, after my family was in bed, I started a new routine. I sat up typing everything that I had hand written in the car that day into the computer. I took the time to ask Caleb to refresh my memory on the things that he had told me, and to finish what he had started to tell me before Tyler interrupted. After getting it all down, I thought that I was done. Wrong again.

As I started to close out my new document, Caleb spoke up and asked if I wanted to hear about Jessie’s first day in town. I shrugged to myself and thought, what the hell, it’s already four A.M., I don’t have time to sleep before the kids get up anyway. Taking that as acquiescence, Caleb suggested that I might like to add this story to what I’d already typed that night.

I got a kick out of the story, learning about how Jessie moved down the street from Caleb when she was five, and about how they first became friends. It was sweet, hearing Caleb talk about teaching Jessie to ride her bike, and showing her around the neighborhood, taking her to the park down the street. Then as they started kindergarten, and her parents asked him to make sure she didn’t get lost on the way those first days, was all very fascinating to me. As well as all the important things that had occurred between that first meeting, and their senior year of high school, it was very interesting.

It wasn’t a terribly long story, but it was the longest that I’d ever written. It was about ten pages long, single spaced, ten point type, so not short either. When I finished with it, I knew that it wasn’t the novel, but just an introduction to the characters and their relationships to each other. It dealt with the introduction of Katie, who had been too shy and selfless to introduce herself to me before, and explained how and when Tyler came in to the picture.

Part 2 of About writing Cross Roads will follow shortly, it is the other half of this post, and will complete this post.

My Favorite Books

Today I thought that I would do something different. I'm going to write about some of my favorite books and why I like them so much.

I want to start with Louisa May Alcott's' Little Women, which has been one of my favorites since I was a little girl. I think that this book had so much impact on me because it was the first book that ever made me cry. It had a tremendous impact on the way that I saw books, from then on I expected more from my books then a laugh. I expected to be moved or touched by the books that I read after Little Women.

The next book I want to talk about is Alice Walkers' The Color Purple, reading this book opened my eyes to an ugly truth about the way that African Americans in the South lived. Certainly it took place in another era, but in my 14yr old mind, it should've been on another planet as well. I had never known before reading that book, that people had been forced to live like that. And then to overcome all the things that society and circumstances had piled in front of her, I thought that Ms. Walkers character Celie was one of the strongest women that I'd ever read about.

The third, and last book I want to talk about for now, is Dee Browns' Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. This book changed the way that I saw myself, until I found this book I considered myself "White". While my skin is white, my father is Native American and so am I. I might've been the whitest Indian around, but I was an Indian. Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee completely changed how I saw the Native American people, my people. They went from a group of uneducated alcohol and drug addicted people, to a group of people that were still fighting in every way that they knew to overcome the bonds of oppression that still held them struggling on the ground. It was a life changing moment for me to realize that my heritage was nothing to be ashamed of, indeed that it was something to be proud of.

Secondary Characters

In one of my excerpts, featuring Tyler, I introduce a secondary character that I don't introduce properly. I wanted to take a moment now and explain. Lacey is the catalyst that causes Jessie to finally leave Tyler, and she becomes Tyler's next girlfriend. Though he is very abusive to her, and her relationship with Tyler ends very tragically, Lacy is only a secondary character. When writing her into the story, I wanted to add a little about her past so that you would understand her better. For instance, why would anybody in their right mind choose to date a guy that has plead guilty to assault to avoid domestic violence charges? I wanted to make sure that everybody understood how she was abused and the way that affected her choices. Hopefully I haven't confused anybody with an unaccounted for character.

An Excerpt From "Cross Roads" By Christie Chambless

Tyler was getting impatient again, May had come, and still he hadn’t had a chance to carry out his plans. Jessie was still breathing, and he was still stuck with Lacey. That was not how he’d planned for his life to go, he was supposed to be the popular guy with the hot head cheerleader at his beck and call. Things were screwed up bad now, but maybe they could still improve enough for him to get his life back. He had just finished submitting roughly two dozen applications for scholarships through different schools and government programs across the country. He was almost positive that there were at least three schools that wanted him, maybe he could shake the hick dust off his shoes and have a chance to be the star he always knew he could be.

His hopes were the only thing keeping him from running Jessie Stanton off the road and down the steep hill on Olympic Highway. She was often down town at the library late, and he had fantasized about seeing her heavy steel framed car going through the flimsy barrier and soaring down into a fiery inferno at the bottom of the steep hillside. He wondered idly if he would have time to roast a marshmallow over her burning hulk before the stupid cops got there. The police station was only a few blocks from the bottom of the hill, but they were so incompetent that they’d probably get lost on the way.

He spent most of his time glued to the spy cams that he’d hidden in Jessie’s room, making hundreds of D.V.D.’s, he had her in every stage of undress, form as many angles as his limited cameras allowed, all the times she got undressed or showered were all cut together in different ways, ways that pleased him. He wasn’t completely satisfied with the amount of time she spent there anymore. She was always out with that stupid prick Toby, he knew she was giving it up to him, probably two or three times a day, the stupid little slut. Every time his thoughts turned down this path, he turned them right back around with thoughts of Jessie begging for mercy. That always put a smile on his face, that and picturing her bruised and battered body burning merrily in a dumpster.

On this day, in early May, Tyler was with Lacey. He didn’t really want to be here with her, but all the other girls looked at him funny now. Jessie had apparently spread her infuriating lies around the entire town, and he’d get her for that. Lacey was whining about something again, and he knew that she wanted him to ask her what was wrong, but he just didn’t care.

“Did you hear me honey?” She asked timidly. He turned and looked her directly in the face, and she cringed. He pulled his fist back and punched her in the chest. She recoiled, but she knew better then to scream anymore, he had taught her well so far.

“No, and I don’t care either. Shut up and get your clothes off whore.” He ordered cruelly. She cringed again, but started to strip hastily. She knew that he would hit her again if she didn’t move when he told her to.

He might think her servile attitude was the result of his good training, but in truth, it was the work of all the men that came in and out of her mother’s life. None of them had ever been nice to her, and most had been cruel. Deliberately withholding the love that she so desperately craved, grooming her to be the substitute girlfriend when her mother was unable or unwilling to give them what they wanted.

The first time, she had only been eleven, and her mother’s boyfriend Lenny had started by “educating” her about her new role. Telling her exactly what would be required of her, if she wanted him to love her. He told her that this was how daddies taught their daughters to be women. The way that he explained it, it actually sounded like something that every good dad did for his daughter, if he loved her. He had talked to her about it again and again for almost three months, until she’d practically begged him to help her learn.

After the shocking reality of what had happened to her had sunk in, she’d tried to tell her mom, but he had talked his way out of trouble. He had convinced her mom that she had been the one that had seduced him, and her mom believed him. Part of the reason it had worked so well for Lenny, was the fact that she knew she had begged him to do it. That, and the fact that her mom a hundred dollar a day methamphetamine monkey on her back, and just didn’t have the presence of mind to protect her vulnerable young daughter.