That's so cliché

I've been pondering a question lately, and the question is this:  When is it okay to create a cliché character?  Here are three  answers I've come up with.  Ranging from the obvious to the controversial.

1. In a parody or satire. Though I think it is acceptable to use cliché characters in these, I don't thinks it's necessary.  A certain Merpire  from Carrie's blog comes to mind.

2. When you're trying to use the character as a contrast to a more non-traditional character. Perhaps this one is controversial because, just because a character does something expected does mean their persona is cliché.   At the same time you can find a slew of characters (especially in sitcoms) that fit a very specific mold, the lazy one, the dumb one, the uptight,nerdy one.  Often they're in the story for the MC to play off of.

3.  When you're writing for very young audiences. Again, not necessary, but acceptable.  Like when you're reading a child a story like,  BEDTIME BATTLE (yes, this is a favorite at our house).  The children exhibit very typical bedtime behavior.  My son finds this very amusing because he can relate to it!

What do you guys think?  You are all so much better at this writing analysis stuff than I am.  I just happen to have a cliché character in one of my books (at least I think he might be cliché)  and I'm wondering if it's okay.  Maybe it would be better to make a list of when it's not okay to use cliché characters, but I'm just sure at least one of you would put a single word on that list:  never! :)

My fingers have a mind of their own.

Last night I sent Kasie an email in which I said, "chat for a minute."  NO, I'm not putting that in quotation marks because it's what I said.   I'm putting it in quotes because I put it in quotes in the email.  And no, there was absolutely no reason to put it in quotes.  None. Somehow they just ended up in there.  I didn't even realize that I had done it until after I sent the email.  Imagine my confusion when I saw it. (If you need help here's the visual: messy, after-shower, bed head, glasses, pjs, consternated expression, scratching my head.)  On second thought, don't imagine it.

So I had to wonder, why did I do it?  Was it because I spend so much time typing quotation marks all day that my fingers have a random quotation twitch?  Or was it caused by a subconscious, histrionic need to illustrate the habit Nathan Bransford wrote about in his post on improper use of quotation marks?  Maybe it was the result of a split personality, one side of me that knows the rules of quotations and the other that clearly doesn't.  It's possible.  After all, I wouldn't really know if I had a split personality, would I?

As I started thinking about all these serious possibilities, another, more likely explanation came to the forefront of my mind: my fingers are possessed by a poltergeist finger spirit. Everything started making sense once I embraced this realization. And I'm not just talking about the fact that my fingers like to write "candi" instead of "can". I'm talking about everything in my life!

The added weight I can never get off, clearly the result of poltergeist-finger candybar grabbing. My cluttered office, poltergeist-finger aversion to cleaning. You see where I'm going with this. I'll spare you a comprehensive list, but suffice it to say that there is clearly a problem that needs to be dealt with. I'm going to get right on it.

In the meantime, if any of you get comments, emails, or twitter updates from me that say "your" in place of "you're" or just plain don't make sense, you'll know who to blame.

Sink or Swim, Live or Die

I’m awake at 6:30 this morning, saying good bye to my husband as he heads to work on the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, and I can’t help but think back eight years.  It was a typical morning.  I was working as a teacher.  My husband was working as the assistant city planner of our quiet community.  We had just bought our first home.  It was an adorable fixer-upper with plaster walls and thick wood floors that needed to be refinished.

The alarm had already gone off once which turned the radio on in our room.  As usual, I was still asleep waiting for my own personal alarm (Neal) to wake me up when I really couldn’t spare another minute of sleep.

Like every other morning I felt his hand on my shoulder, “Candi, wake up.”  I grunted, probably unintelligibly.  Then his shaking was more insistent, “Candi.  Wake. Up. Our country has been attacked.”

Those were words I had never expected to hear. I rolled over quickly and sat up.  “What!?” I said as he turned off the radio and flipped on the TV in our room, searching for the news.

“Two planes were flown into the Twin Towers,” he said.  I was about to ask him more, but then I stopped.  We both stared at the screen at the image we all know so well.

Live camera crews were on the ground filming the disaster.  They were talking about the mass chaos, speculating on what had happened.  You could hear the shock in everyone’s voice as they watched the scene in front of them.  Then the first tower fell.   It happened so fast and a thick, black cloud of dust and debris rolled like a wave through the streets.  I remember so clearly the horrible recognition of what had just happened, how many people had died in an instant.  Then it happened again.  Then the third plane hit the Pentagon.  My sister lived in Washington DC.  Then the fourth plane crashed. I remember thinking, how long is this going to go on?  When will it stop?  How many more people are going to die?

Above us we could hear the afterburners of the F-14s taking off from the Air National Guard Base that was just a few miles from our home.  That was to become a common sound in the coming months as they continually patrolled the coast.  It always shook the old windows of our little house.

We learned in the weeks that followed that the worst terrorist attack in U.S. history had taken the lives of 2,974 innocent victims and 19 hijackers. A national tragedy gripped the nation.  It’s was as if all of us had been affected.  For weeks all I could do when I get home at night was turn on the news and stare.

Fast forward eight years.  Last week I get a call from my sister.  One of her friends has been killed in Afghanistan, leaving behind a young wife.  She expresses feelings of frustration at news media and politicians who are effusive at times and silent at others.  Their concern over the troops seems to be closely correlated with how much it will help or hurt their agenda to talk about them.  A young man dying in Mesa, AZ is not a national tragedy, but it is completely devastating to one family.  I realize that the September 11th death toll is still rising.  More than 5,000 U.S. troops have died in the war on terror and countless other innocent civilians and foreign troops.

I had a realization as I was walking through the commissary a few days ago. I saw a young veteran at the end of the line where I stood.  He had three prosthetic limbs and one stump.    He had lost all four limbs for his country.  I almost didn’t want to look. It made me feel ashamed of my own weaknesses and selfish tendencies.  It made me feel ashamed of the fact that I’m scared to be away from my husband for a matter of a few months.  In that moment I realized that for the majority of Americans freedom is cheap, even free.  There is no personal cost.  All it takes is a few of their tax dollars.  Big deal.  But for a very few Americans freedom costs an unimaginable price: their lives, their limbs, their loved ones, the precious moments watching their children grow up.

One of my neighbor’s husbands has been deployed for the fifth time.  She has four children.  Another of my neighbor's children listen to their dad’s voice on CD each night say recited prayers and read their favorite stories.  She said that the first year of their marriage her husband was gone 260 days.  To them freedom is not cheap.  But it has not cost them yet more than they are willing to pay.  They know it’s true worth.

One of the most amazing things to me is that those who have paid the highest price for freedom are those who will tell you that it is worth the cost.  My husband sees injured and scarred soldiers whose only desire is to get back and keep fighting.

I can’t help but think about a time when every person in our country knew and understood the cost of freedom.  Almost every family had a father or brother or son that had fought for that freedom.   I don’t wish to go back to those days.  We are incredibly blessed that so many do not have to suffer the horrors of war, but I do wish to share a thought from those who knew what Freedom truly cost and how much it was worth paying the price for.

The following speech is attributed to John Adams:

Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote…
I know the uncertainty of human affairs, but I see, I see clearly, through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. We may not live to the time when this Declaration shall be made good. We may die ; die, colonists ; die, slaves ; die, it may be, ignominiously and on the scaffold. Be it so ; be it so ! If it be the pleasure of heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may. But, while I do live, let me have a country, or at least, the hope of a country, and that a free country.
But whatever may be our fate, be assured; be assured that this Declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood, but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires and illuminations. On its annual return, they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude and of joy.
Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it. And I leave off as I began, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration. It is my living sentiment, and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment, Independence now, and INDEPENDENCE FOREVER !
Freedom may not cost us personally, but my hope and prayer is that it is never cheap in our hearts.  I believe whole- heartedly that for the vast majority of Americans who will never have to see war or it's effects, all that freedom requires is for them to remember and appreciate.  And that is a very small price to pay.

WOOHOO for Natalie!!

I just want to give a huge CONGRATULATIONS to the lovely and uber-talented Natalie Whipple who just landed an agent. And who might her agent be you are all, I'm sure, asking... the ever coveted Nathan Bransford!

So head on over to her blog if you haven't already and offer up your congratulations.  Then look for her books on the best seller shelf in a few years.  She is so so creative and hardworking I know they're going to be there.  YAY NATALIE!!!!!!!