So I'm still answering!

Reader Maggie asked:
I was wondering how much of your character's personality and/or traits you decide before / at the beginning of the story? Are they complete persons with their sets of views and likes and dislikes before they appear on scene, or do you come to a point and have to consider "what would be a likely reaction for him/her"? I suppose this also influences character development, figuring out how their perceptions change...

And in terms of their physical appearance - do you have a clear image in your minds eye of each, or more a "feeling" of the character (not sure if that makes sense o.O)?

Thank you! Maggie

Let’s take appearance first. Usually, I have a general idea of what a character looks like, and occasionally I have a specific person in mind as a physical model. For example, I pictured Ailith from Silent on the Moor as Emily Procter. But I like for readers to develop their own image, so if you pictured Claire Danes or Cate Blanchett types for Ailith, that is great.

As far as personality, some aspects are dictated by plot. If I need someone who is an unrepentant gambler with a penchant for fast horses and faster women in order to fulfill a twist of the plot, then that’s the seed of where I begin with that person. If it isn’t essential for the plot, the character will develop according to my whims. I try to keep them consistent or at least explain inconsistencies. Human beings are seldom perfectly consistent, so it’s important to me that when a character strays from behavior we’d expect, we have a reason for it. In Lord March’s case, for instance, he is a liberal lord with radical leanings. However, we also know that he is wildly hypocritical when it comes to extending that liberality to his children. He doesn’t espouse the “live and let live” philosophy when it touches his children, and he can be surprisingly uptight at times. The explanation for that is that he is an intellectual liberal, but his views are often challenged by his own upbringing as an extremely privileged person—something that is, I think, extremely human and completely reasonable.

And yes, I very often find myself asking how a character would behave in a situation I’ve thrust them into!

Continuing with reader questions, Reader Kim posted the following:

1. Can you tell us a little about your writing process? How much time do you devote to research and how long does it take you to actually write the novel?
2. Was it different writing for Julia & Nicholas as a married couple?
3. While Portia and Plum appear in Dark Road, can you tell us which March siblings figure into Book 5?
Thank you.

The process varies from book to book. I used to be completely rigid about doing all of the research before I began the first draft, and then, with Dark Road to Darjeeling, that simple wasn’t possible. I had to learn how to write a draft while I was researching. And in the course of the research for that book, I read Rumer Godden’s memoirs and realized she always did the research last! It seemed absolutely crazy, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. If you research first, you run the risk of putting in too much information. And goodness knows you read FAR more than you really have to. If you wait until the skeleton of the book is constructed, you know precisely what information you’re lacking, and it takes a fraction of the time to find it. I can’t give you an exact amount of time because I tend to let projects overlap and I fit research in at odd times. Right now I’m on a nine-month schedule which suits me fine.

It was a huge challenge writing for them as a married couple! I wanted to keep a certain amount of tension between them, but it was also necessary to see them behaving as a married couple—committed, emotionally intimate, etc. In order to do that, the tension has to stem now not from the question of “will they or won’t they get together?” but “how will they make it work?” Challenging but fun!

In book five we’ll see Portia and Plum again, along with Bellmont and Lord March himself. Hector is back! We’ll also see Fleur and Aquinas. (I have a scene with Valerius now, but I suspect I will end up cutting it during revisions. I fear what could happen with too many Marches amok in a single book…)

Reader Melissa posted a few questions about the Marches. She wanted to know how long they've been naming their children after Shakespearean characters and what they'll do when they run out of names. She also wanted to know what sort of green their eyes are. Okay, last one first. It never occurred to me to specify what shade of green! In my mind they are a sort of bottle green, so dark you might look at a March quickly and think, "Brown eyes, brown hair," but once you look closely, you realize there is a tinge of red to the hair and the eyes are actually green. Having said this, I think that your picture of the Marches is perfectly accurate. If you see them with bright emerald eyes, so be it.

As far as the names, the Marches were patrons of Shakespeare and started naming their children after his characters immediately. They won't ever run out because Shakespeare was tremendously prolific and because the aristocracy loves to repeat family names. (Look at any noble English family tree, and your eyes will cross from trying to keep them all sorted!) I particularly like pulling obscure names for some of the minor characters--I always love "naming day" where I spend hours combing  through the plays to choose just the right name. A smarter girl would note the names when she's reading and just keep them on hand, but alas, I'm apparently not that bright...

Thanks for the questions, Melissa!

The first question--and these are in no particular order--is from reader Amanda who wanted to know why some authors choose to use a nom de plume. She was inquiring specifically about established authors using pseudonyms, and the answer is pretty straightforward. When an established author is getting ready for a fresh start--new publisher, new genre, etc.--they may decide that a change of name is in order. (There are some authors who find that their original publisher actually owns their name, even if it is their birth name, which is both strange and unseemly, but such is the nature of publishing at times.) Usually, the various pen names are attached to specific genres. For instance, Eleanor Hibbert wrote Victoria Holt books--straight up Gothic romances, Philippa Carr--historical family saga, and Jean Plaidy--royal biography. That made it extremely easy for her to build a following in each genre without carrying any specific expectations from her other pen names. And people knew that buying a Victoria Holt book would never give the same experience as a Jean Plaidy. (The odd exception is The Queen's Confession, an "autobiography" of Marie Antoinette, which was published under Victoria Holt rather than Jean Plaidy. It seemed more "Plaidy-like", but it may have been the only first-person royal narrative and thus read more like the Holt books.) Hope that helps!

Once a year I like to throw the blog open to reader questions. I am happy to chat about the books, the writing process--pretty much anything you care to ask. You can drop questions in the comments section or email me at deannaraybourn(at)yahoo(dot)com and I'll start posting questions and responses in the body of the blog. (It seems only fair since I'm always asking y'all questions, no?) There were some superb topics raised last year, so I can't wait to hear what you have on your minds this year!

So I'm revising Julia Grey #5 right now, and it's a strange thing, this revising. I used to hate it. HATE IT. The necessity of revising symbolized imperfection to me. I didn't write it correctly the first time, so it had to be rewritten, went my thinking. I wanted each first draft to be turned in, pristine and finished. (This is directly related to the fact that when I was in school, I turned in rough drafts and never once revised a paper. I remember turning in my senior seminar paper for my history degree in college--all fifty pages--and getting the draft back with an 'A-' marked on it. My first thought was, "Good enough." No WAY was I spending a minute longer than I had to with George S. Patton and Martin van Creveld. Worthy men, I'm sure, but I was 22 and had a wedding to plan.)

Anyway, suffice it to say, I got into the habit of turning myself inside out for as good a first draft as I could possibly fashion. That lasted until I mentioned this quirk to my editor on the phone one day. She went very quiet for a moment and then said, "You do realize that's a very good way to kill yourself?" She patiently explained that first drafts were FIRST drafts for a reason and that revision was my friend. Since then, I have actually learned to LOVE revising. Seriously, it's my bestie. But it does require a level of focus that first draft writing doesn't. This is when I concentrate on finding holes in logic and plot and character and plugging them firmly. By the time I finish the day's work, I am bleary-eyed and a little punchy and everyday things seem infinitely more difficult, like I'm living underwater and moving at half-speed. I occasionally forget to do things--like blog yesterday. Oops. But here are a few bits of randomness you might enjoy:

*I got word yesterday that RT gave Dark Road to Darjeeling four and a half stars and a "Top Pick" designation. Woot!

*I just finished reading Carolyn See's Making a Literary Life. If you are a writer, hang with writers, think you might want to write in your next life, RUN out and get this book and tell everyone to leave you be until you've read it. It's divine. REALLY. It's the best sort of writing advice, but I'm not going to tell you why because you need to read it yourself.

*I am intrigued by children's literature. I find myself occasionally buying copies of things I haven't read for thirty-five years just to reacquaint myself with old friends. Right now I am reading Mary Poppins, and if you think she's anything at all like the Disney version--well, HA. She's prickly and touchy and snappy, and I adore her. (This is particularly good for writers, I think, the reading of good children's literature. Authors of children's books have to break things down to the essentials and they often do it in the most unexpected and inspiring ways. I seldom read good kids' books without being freshly motivated for my own work.)

So that brings me to my question: what children's book influenced you the most? For me, the book I remember reading when I was a child was Little Women. I know I read other things, but when I close my eyes and think of being a kid, that's the book I recall. (And yes, that's where the March family in my series gets its name. In every book I write, I also include an homage to Agatha Christie by naming a character after one of hers because Death on the Nile was the first mystery I ever read.) What about you? What book from your childhood still touches you?

It seems you care as deeply as I do about the chest-hair issue--it even caused delurking! There were tweets and facebook comments as well, so I'm glad we're all uniting for the cause. I'm looking into a telethon as we speak. Oooh, and a celebrity endorsement! I'm thinking Hugh Jackman...

It occurred to me last night--oh, and if you're looking for a transition to this paragraph, it's not going to happen; this is totally random--that I coordinate my bookmarks to what I'm reading. I was browsing through three different books and didn't want to lose my places, so I went to find bookmarks, only they couldn't be just ANY bookmarks. They needed to complement the tone of the text. (For example, if I were reading Pillars of Earth, I would use the postcard I bought at York Minster Cathedral with the detail of a wood carving from the altar.) I have loads of bookmarks--most are postcards, some are pieces trimmed from cards I've received from people. And it suddenly occurred to me that coordinating bookmarks to your books is WEIRD. Please tell me someone else out there actually does this.

For most of my life, I thought I was supposed to be a writer. Now I know better. I was born to be a crusader, a woman with a purpose, with a cause to champion and a wrong to right. I have a MISSION, people, and I will not be ignored. What is it, you ask?

Chest hair. I’m serious. I miss chest hair. I am fed up to the back teeth with manscaping, and the next guy who takes a razor to his pectorals better watch out. I honestly don’t know how it all started. I understand the need to clean up around a beard or tidy up the neck after a haircut—and believe me, no one deplores the back hair more than I do. If you take off your shirt and it looks like you are still wearing a sweater, put your clothes back on and we will never speak of it.

But to take a perfectly glorious chest and WAX IT BARE is just wrong. (My excessive use of capitals should make it very clear how serious I am here.) The masculine chest is a beautiful thing, and the hair on that chest is merely the very excellent cherry on the manly goodness beneath. To remove it is just WRONG and, frankly, very upsetting to those of us who are fans. The attraction is a primal one. It reminds us of how we’re different. Forgive me for speaking from a hetero-girl perspective. It’s the only one I’ve got, but it’s immutable. I could wax rhapsodic on the subject, and frequently do. The line of hair that leads from the navel south is worth a sonnet alone. So, if you have a man in your life threatening to defuzz, show him this and school him in the error of his ways, and if all else fails, hide the Nair. I mean to reverse this trend to hairlessness, one denuded chest at a time.

Goodness me, but the blogosphere seems to have erupted in a hate-fest towards Eat Pray Love, hasn't it? (Honestly, the writing was on the wall as soon as it became an Oprah pick. Something about that level of success just triggers the feeding frenzy.) Anyway, I read the book when it first came out--a few months before it became THE book--and it's the only time in my life I have ever been ahead of the curve. And because I loathe the snapping of teeth at the first sign of blood in the water, I want to talk about what I liked.

My favorite passage in the book is when Elizabeth Gilbert talks about her word--the single word that is supposed to sum her up, to encapsulate everything she is and wants to be. Simplicity is always more difficult than elaboration. Condensing the essence of who you are down to a single word is a dangerous thing. There is so much you might accidentally omit, so many words that are almost-but-not-quite-right.

My agent and I were discussing this a few weeks ago over a lovely dinner. There was wine, there was superb food, there was excellent company. (I have mentioned before that I am extremely fond of my agent.) And that moment was a perfect example of my word: pleasure. An author-agent meal has the potential to be stuffy and awkward. My time with my own agent is never either of those things because my agent is a fabulous person with a very peaceful and nurturing way about her. (If I were to get all metaphysical, I would tell you that she has very grounded energy.) She is a very savvy businesswoman, but she is also kind, and it was as much for the kindness as anything else that I wanted her to represent me. I wanted someone I could actually enjoy spending time with as well as work with. The agent-author relationship is an intimate one. She sees the insecurities and difficulties that no one else in my professional life will ever see.

So I chose a person I felt instinctively would be pleasant to be around. That's my formula for just about every decision I make. What will make me happy? What choice will bring me pleasure? Those are questions Epicurus used to ask, and he was soundly criticized for frivolity and for the notion that life philosophy oughtn't be allowed to descend to hedonism. But what his critics failed to note was that there was a strongly moral streak to this philosophy. Epicurus operated from the standpoint that one could not be truly happy in inflicting pain in another. In order to take real pleasure, one had to be acting graciously. That ought to be reassuring to the Puritanical streak we Americans seem to carry. We view the concept of pleasure with suspicion--to our detriment. And why? Life is either far too long or far too short to be unhappy. Why shouldn't every decision we make be done with an eye to pleasing us? From the color of our towels to our next meal to our jobs, what precisely is wrong with pleasure guiding us?

And no, I'm not advocating eating and drinking and sleeping with whatever you please and throwing off your jobs and mortgages and responsibilities to lie around like bonobos. I firmly believe that the highest pleasures come from doing what you like in a way that is moral and gracious, both towards yourself and other people. Take eating, for instance. If I ate everything that was delicious and fattening, I would have momentary pleasure and endless regret. I would be overweight and in poor health and miserable. But if I eat something that is delicious but lighter, I can enjoy myself both in the moment and for the long term. And then my occasional grilled cheeseburger with fries or chocolate-ganache-drenched cupcake is a splurge to be savored instead of an everyday occurrence to be despised. (Actually, overindulgence was specifically counseled against by Epicurus. He maintained that the ultimate state of being was ataraxia, a sort of peacefulness that comes when one is free of fear, which sounds like as good a place as any to aim your life.)

So, my word is pleasure. What's yours?

The fine gentlemen over at the Project Rungay blog posted an editorial from China Vogue's September 2010 issue, and I can barely tear myself away from it long enough to work. (But work I have been, my dears! Been twisting myself into knots over revisions, quite literally--as my chiropractor can tell you. I got crunched and cracked today, which did not feel nice but will be divine by tomorrow.) Anyway, Vogue. China. Delicious things that I want. Seriously--one of each.