It’s true.
I did.
I shot Lyra at point blank range.
In the chest.
The proof (she and David, her guide in the Second World, are trying to escape from their captors):
Lyra clasps her hands tighter around David’s arm; she’s not letting go, but she does speed up, dragging David with her. He wheezes, his breath ragged; she knows he’s struggling, but she won’t leave him. Suddenly David stumbles; he crashes hard to the ground. Lyra’s hands slip off his arm, her momentum propelling her forward. In the split second it takes for her to spin back, Pir catches up. In the split second it takes for Lyra to return to David, Pir raises his rifle. In the split second it takes for Lyra to realize that Pir, the good kid in a bad place, will actually shoot, Pir fires.
In the split second it takes the bullet to fly through the air, Lyra dives in front of David.
In the split second after that, Lyra crumples to the ground.
David, himself weak and injured, is distraught, as you can imagine, but he’s able to escape with the unconscious, dying Lyra.
Except you and I know something David doesn’t: Lyra will recover. Her super cells will heal her wounds and she’ll wake up fresh as a daisy.
That’s my cool premise, right? That Lyra can’t die. That she has these super cells that make her unique and indispensable.
Great idea, right? Only… now I’ve painted myself into a corner.
If you consider your favourite stories, books or movies, there’s always an element of suspense, often derived from the precarious life-and-death position the protagonist finds herself in. While we may know (or hope) that the main character will survive (she (or he) has to be around for the sequel, naturally), there’s always the possibility that she can die. More importantly, the character knows that’s a possibility, adding to the high stakes of her mission. We see the intensity of the character’s inner conflict when she must decide if she’ll sacrifice herself for the world.
So where’s the drama and suspense when Lyra already knows she’ll live? Where is the tension and excitement of the daring risks she must take?
Yeah… I don’t know either.
I’m working on it. Throughout the book, I’m careful to say that Lyra is not immortal, that she probably can die, but so far, the good doctor can’t figure out how that might happen. Old age, most likely, but what’s riveting about that?
All good heroic stories must end in the question of sacrifice.
If Lyra’s life, what we consider the most valuable of all sacrifices, is untouchable, what else will she be faced with giving up?
In the “Magic of Revision” post, I explain how I plan to change the ending to reflect a more believable confrontation between Lyra and the bad guy. What I didn’t realize in my musings about that possibility was how I might be draining the tension from the climax.
I have no answers for you yet.
Coming up with a satisfactory ending, full of emotional tension, suspense, conflict and surprise despite Lyra’s never-can-die super cells, may yet be the death of me.
A death as real as Lyra’s, of course.