By Lise Bennett
My head spun for weeks from everything I learned at this year’s Pikes Peak Writers Conference - or was the spinning due to lack of sleep combined with altitude? Whatever the reason,
my first PPWC was an incredible experience. I went into the weekend with the
simple intent to soak up as much novel-writing knowledge as I could each day,
wring my brain out every night, and be ready to absorb again the next day. Soak,
wring, repeat. I left with much more than I’d imagined.
I arrived the first morning
to “A Murder in Aspen Leaf” where EMTs, CSIs, FBI agents, and I think IPOs were
investigating a death. I had my money on Professor Plum in the bedroom with a
belt— the one that matched the ligature marks found on the victim’s neck. The
presenters taught us how to set up a realistic murder investigation scene by
explaining the flow of events that take place, clarifying who has jurisdiction
over what, and illustrating how the various specialties do what they do. I
found the forensics portion particularly fascinating. Chris Herndon, the Coroner,
explained how rigor mortis follows a predictable time pattern and can be used
to estimate time of death. She showed us how the location of lividity, discoloration
caused by congestion of blood pooling in a dependent part of the body, can
indicate that a body has been moved. After a detailed explanation of the careful
observations, examinations, and calculations she uses in her work, she said that
in reality, calling time of death boils down to SWAG; coroner lingo for “scientific
wild-assed guess”.
Middle-grade novelist
extraordinaire and seasoned wrangler of 12-year-olds, Darby Karchut exudes acceptance
and support as only a 7th grade teacher can. She’s the kind of
person who would be completely unfazed if some guy laughed so hard at one of her
anecdotes that he snorted diet soda out of his nose and onto her dress. She’d whip
out a tissue, rub the spill and pat the snorter at the same time, and then spin
her story in a way that made soda guy look like a hero. She’s that good. She
was the perfect person to guide us through the intimidating world of querying,
publishing, agents, and contracts. Apparently the fun of writing in stolen 15-minute
bursts every single day, juggling families and day jobs, mustering enough
courage to slash the things that don’t work, and sweating through the fear of
not being able to make up something better is only the beginning of the levity yet
to come. I learned that pitching is not for weaklings or those whose stamina is
taxed by walking from the computer to the coffee pot. Darby pitched her first
book 102 times before she got an offer. Since everything about the publishing journey—
from the writing to the waiting— moves at a glacial pace, she encouraged us to
acknowledge and celebrate every milestone along the way, from fixing a
difficult chapter to typing “The End”. Darby went out to eat after her first book
was released reminding herself, “Yesterday I didn’t have a book published;
today I have a book published.” I’m just trying to decide how many pages I need
to write to justify some dancing and cookie eating merriment.
Hank Philippi Ryan, the
ultimate in unaffected coolness, is a mystery writer/investigative reporter. She
talked about the way her career in TV journalism has supported her novel
writing. She said that any story, whether it’s a three-minute feature on the
nightly news or a 400-page novel, has to capture people’s attention and keep
them hanging on until the end. That means originally my writing has to excite
me, the writer. Does the story move me on a heart level? Is the idea compelling
enough to sustain me through the unfolding and resolution of the plot? Hank’s
trick for uncovering meaning in the story is to repeat to herself over and over
“Why do I care?” It’s also apparently vitally important to say this aloud in a
nasal twang to channel the voice and spirit of one of her executive producers.
By asking this question again and again with the proper inflection, it will
help me discover what it is that I can sink my teeth into without letting go. It will transform me into a literary
pit bull for the months or years it will take to tell my story. It will show me
where the meat is— or the marinated soy, if I’m in a vegetarian state of mind.
Before attending the
conference, I knew that flaws are what make a character relatable and
interesting, but Carol Berg, writer of all things demonic, enchanting, and
magical, gave us a great tool to discover these flaws. She suggested asking, in
terms of our characters, “How do you get them riled up?” Trai Cartwright,
screenplay goddess, took a similar, if less subtle approach. Her M.O.? Character
harassment. Her eyes gleamed when she told us we can’t really know a character
until we put him in a fight. Thanks to her, I now have visions of each of my
characters enclosed in an MMA-style chain link ring— with Trai. They don’t have
to fight her, though. They could fight their boss, the rain, fate, or a Thin Mint-toting
Girl Scout with a kick ass sales goal and a take no prisoners attitude. And if there
are multiple main characters, Trai says everyone needs to be messed with!
When I signed up for PPWC
2014, I was expecting to have an enjoyable weekend and learn a lot about
writing. I wasn’t disappointed. However, my experience went far beyond that. I
met wonderful people with enormous vocabularies and even more enormous hearts,
and I think I may have walked away with the Holy Grail—
not only for success in writing, but for success in life:
- Mess
with everyone. Really rile them up.
- Rejoice
in flaws. They are more interesting than strengths.
- Care.
(using my best nasal twang)
- Celebrate
every victory no matter its size.
- Accept
that I’ll never have all the answers and then take my best SWAG, because in the
end, I’m going to die anyway.
- Write
here. Write now.
About the Author: Lise Bennett is a
transplant to Colorado but is thriving in the reduced oxygen. She won the grand
prize in a scene writing contest sponsored by Showtime, was a winner in the
Fresh Voices Screenplay Competition with her script, Crossing the Line,
and was a finalist in both The Moondance International Film Festival and The
Latino Screenplay Competition with En el Nombre de Dios. Formerly
working full time in private practice as a naturopathic doctor, she has now
gotten her priorities straight and spends her time making stuff up and writing
it down. If she’s not behind her laptop, Lise is probably balancing on two
wheels or one leg, huffing up a 14er, blowing into the small end of a sax, or
compressing and extending her way through West Coast Swing. Lise is currently
converting her script, Crossing the Line, to a novel, writing an action
comedy screenplay, and is part of a documentary film project called Voices
of Grief.
