Ok, here goes. Deep breath.

I’ve killed off Lyra, my immortal, can-never-die-because-of-her-phoenix-cells heroine.

I don’t mean Lyra dies at the end of the novel.

I mean there is no more novel in which this Lyra appears.

I mean I am throwing out every single word of the past three years. I am tossing the manuscript into the proverbial garbage.

Not because I think the whole book is garbage–it may not have been quite good enough to make the cut for an agent or publisher, but it was enjoyable for my beta readers and I don’t dispute how much I learned throughout my trial and error process (this blog is witness to my efforts…)

But as I struggled with the work my book coach gave me, and as the same work came easily for Evangeline, from my angel novel, I had to take a long, hard, honest look at Lyra. Why, why, after three years, an incredible number of from-scratch drafts, and now guidance from a professional, was this project still not coming together?

Because, I finally realized, the Lyra I ended up with is a far cry from the Lyra I started out with. Of course, you say, characters develop and change. Look at Elsa from Frozen–for most of the movie’s production, she was all evil until the moment the writers got to the song “Let it Go”. That one song transformed Elsa into the flawed heroine we know and love today.

So why shouldn’t Lyra end up like that? Because in my case, what I’ve ended up with isn’t a more refined, whole, well-rounded character; what I have is a compromise. The Lyra I have now was my attempt to write her as I believed other people wanted her, based on feedback I’d received, from both professionals and friends. It’s not that they told me how Lyra “should” be; it’s that they saw her going in a different direction, and, thinking they knew best, I followed. That’s partially my naivety, trusting others to know my story better than me, and partially my unskilled efforts to clearly explain my vision of Lyra and her journey.

Well no more.

I am resurrecting my Lyra. My original version, the one who popped into my head, wholly uninvited, when I was trying to write about Evangeline (actually, there’s an example of a character improving with every iteration. Evangeline then is nothing like Evangeline now and that’s for the better). Lyra was unwelcome, too, since I wanted to concentrate on Evangeline, but she just wouldn’t go away. She was gruff and insistent, a hard-ass kind of chick who wasn’t about to let me off the hook. Talk to me, she said. But she played me. She wanted me to pay attention to her, but she wouldn’t give me much to go on. That’s why I think I was so easily swayed in other directions.

This Lyra’s story also isn’t about religion. It’s not about terrorism or justice or saving the world (ok, maybe it’s about saving the world.) Really, it’s about a teen, on the run with her parents for half her life, trying to outsmart the government who already knows about her phoenix cells and wants to exploit her. Imagine, can’t you? An army of super soldiers cloned from phoenix cells… A fighting force that can never die… But what do you think Lyra thinks of being a pawn in this game? She’s had enough; she’s fighting back. Against her parents, against the government, against everyone trying to control her life. She’s in charge. She’ll decide.

Or will she?

I don’t know if this Lyra will be better; I don’t know that I can execute the vision I have in my head (fuzzy as it still is).

What I do know is this feels right.

So who the hell cares if it takes me another three years?

(Ok, I care… I hope I’ve learned enough that it will take me less time than that…)

Regardless, here’s hoping you stick with me during the process–and even if you don’t, be sure to look for my new and improved and original Lyra coming sometime to a bookstore near you. 🙂

I have yet to write a single word of my angel novel. Not the first sentence nor the last. Not the 500,000+ words over three years and umpteen drafts that I’ve written so far on my Lyra book.

And still I’ve gotten some welcome praise for On the Side of Angels.

Through the writing workshop I’m taking online, my book coach Heather offered me this feedback on the concept and rough sketch of what my novel will be about:

“Fantastic work! Your premise is on fire. You did such an awesome job with the various sections of the workbook and it inspired me with my comments all the more! Don’t be overwhelmed… If I wasn’t so smitten by this story I can assure you that there would be far less comments!”

This, from someone who isn’t related to me. 🙂

This, from someone who knows me only through my writing. 🙂

This, from a professional writer. 🙂

Ok, it’s a long way from a publishing deal and I have a ton of work to do (concept is one thing; implementation is another…) but I’ll take the encouragement where I can get it, and forge ahead.

I’m jazzed about it, though. This novel seems to be coming together more easily than Phoenix Cells–quite possibly because I’m starting from a different angle (the why, the point of the book, the inner struggle of the character instead of simply sitting down to write).

But my husband Scott pointed out that I’ve been batting around this angel idea for years. He reminded me I did months of research on angel lore long ago; he said I’ve started and stopped about three or four versions of an angel book eons ago.

It’s true; the story has been brewing (in many different forms) in my mind for a long time–in fact, I interrupted one version of it to start on Phoenix Cells. I wondered at the time why I “gave up” on the angel concept, and the answer is simple: that version wasn’t working. [My main character was a human and angels came to Earth; this new idea is all set in the heavens and everyone is an angel].

So how did I hit on this new idea that is working?

The answer is extraordinarily clear and blindingly obvious–only after I discovered it (in part thanks to my work with Jennie and Heather): by making sure my future readers (i.e.: a young adult audience) will be able to relate to my protagonist.

In Evangeline’s case, she’s struggling with going against the ideals of her father, Lucifer. She comes to believe in a different set of values than those she grew up with and wants to trust her own judgment, to confront her father about his (lack of) morality, but she’s terrified she’ll lose him–his trust, his love, his support (and, in my story, her choices could lead directly to his death). She knows the right thing to do, but how can she do it if it means losing everything she knows and loves?

You don’t have to be fluttering up in the heavens in the middle of a war against God to appreciate that morality–whatever the issue is that you’re trying to deal with–is messy and complex and confusing and challenging and unclear.

Which means my readers will understand Evangeline, which means they’ll like the book, which means they’ll tell others to read it, which means… a runaway bestseller.

Now, after having said that with conceited confidence, here’s hoping I’m right. 🙂

Just keep writing, just keep writing, just keep writing… 🙂  

What does Lyra want? Jennie, my book coach, asked me.

Ah, I got this. Killing the bad guy.

That’s external, Jennie said. What are her internal desires?

Umm… I don’t know? But it sounds like I’m supposed to know?

Jennie assured me (no doubt shaking her head and hiding a smile) that as the writer, yes, I am supposed to know what my protagonist wants.

The question seems simple; the answer maddeningly elusive.

It wasn’t until I hit on two separate points that I was finally able to piece it together:

1. I need to have Lyra experience religion. As the manuscript stands now, I have Lyra learn about the benefits of religion, but it’s all from the outside, as if she’s listening to class lectures. At no time do I have her feel the magic and wonder and hope and faith that can come from religion.
2. I need a stronger, more compelling backstory–things that happened before the novel starts that made Lyra who she is. Our perceptions are based on our past experiences, so if we don’t know the protagonist’s past, how can we understand how she’ll react in the future? We, as readers, need to know why a character does what she does; we can only answer that by knowing what happened to her before.

So I took those two points to create a new Lyra.

In my new version, I will no longer have Lyra merely reacting to those involved in religion; Lyra herself will be involved.

Which means she’s no longer trying to understand her boyfriend Jonah’s interest in religion–she’s no longer searching for why he would blow up their school in the name of God–she’s trying to understand her own pull toward religion.

(Which means I’ve jettisoned Jonah; I’m thinking he may not even exist in this new version. Sorry Jonah.)

Which means I need to understand why she feels pulled toward religion, especially in a society that demonizes religion. In a society where religious gatherings are outlawed because they supposedly incite only violence and hatred, why would a girl risk everything to find out more?

This, of course, is where the internal desire comes from. What, in Lyra’s past, would drive her to seek out religion when it’s dangerous and illegal? It has to be something big… something profound…

Something like…

…the death of her father.

In my original drafts, I have her father surviving a heart attack a year earlier, but dying in the school explosion. But say he died because of the earlier heart attack before the novel starts? What would that do to Lyra, who worshipped her father? To whom would she turn for comfort? Her mother, who’s always been distant? Her friends who have never experienced such grief?

And what comfort would she get from her society, her science-based, empirically-driven culture which explains that death is the end of the body, the end of the person, and that’s that?  No soul, no afterlife, no angelic presence, because none of those things can be scientifically proven.

Say she couldn’t accept that her father was gone (before the novel starts)… say she’d heard rumours that religion might have a way to reconnect–somehow–with her father, even if she understands he will not return in body and mind.

But what about if he can exist in this new concept called “spirit”? The notion that someday, in the afterlife, maybe, she can again be with her dad…wouldn’t that appeal to her?

And would that desire be enough to drive her forward (to the point where the novel starts)? To propel the action?

Yes. (Maybe?)

That’s the work I have ahead of me. But at least I someplace to start. At least I now know what Lyra wants (impossible as it may be): she wants to see her dad again.

Thanks to my semester off, I have a concentrated five months to write. Gotta make the most of it!

So I’m biting off more than I can chew (probably).

While I work at revising (ahem, rewriting) Phoenix Cells, I’m also starting a new novel. And, through Jennie’s company, Author Accelerator, I’m working with another coach, Heather Ezell, on that one. While Jennie can help me untangle Lyra–it’s more complicated because, with a full manuscript, I’m fighting all my old instincts–I have no preconceived notions about this new project, so Heather can help me from the start.

And it’s all backwards…

One of the first steps is to write the jacket copy–the summary on the back of the book.

What?! I don’t know what my book is about yet–how can I write, well, what it’s about?

But the process I used for Lyra–finishing the manuscript, then writing the back copy–obviously didn’t work so I might as well try the reverse.

You know what? This  might actually work…

Here, in draft form (read: in draft form, as in, very subject to change), is my back cover copy for my new novel, On the Side of Angels. 

War rages in the Seven Heavens between Lucifer and God’s army. Common Angels, the lowest and most exploited class in the Heavens, have been commanded to Earth to act as guardians to God’s newest species, the humans. Furious at what they see as banishment, Lucifer and his followers rise up against God.

Evangeline, Lucifer’s 18-year-old daughter, wholly supports him—until she witnesses him slaughter a whole village of Common Angels loyal to God. She doesn’t want believe it. Her father is a loving, caring, doting man who wants only the best for his people; she must not have understood what she saw.

When Lucifer learns of a book that contains the secret to ending the war, he needs Evangeline’s help to retrieve it. She sets out on the quest, relieved; once she finds the book, she can help stop the war—and her father’s mounting cruelties—without having to confront him.

When Evangeline and Lucifer get captured, Evangeline is given an ultimatum: secure the book for the enemy Archangels or watch her father die.

To save Lucifer, she continues on her journey with Michael, her Archangel guard. He is adamant that Lucifer now knows how to overthrow God, and Evangeline begins to fear Michael is right. But how can she abandon her father? He’s all she has; if she ruins him, she destroys herself. As they search for the book, Evangeline struggles to choose between what feels right and what is right. Does she choose the love and comfort of her father or the safety of every other angel? The stakes are high: the fate of the Heavens—and the fate of humanity—now rests in her hands.

Whaddaya think? You’d read it, right? Right? (please say yes… 🙂 )

Definitions of:

from scratch: start from the beginning with the basic ingredients

to start over: to begin to do something again, sometimes in a different way

go back to the drawing board: have to start planning a piece of work again because the previous plan failed

[writer gnashing her teeth] Are these my next steps?

Umm… maybe?

Will the decision result in a better book? I’m absolutely convinced.

Will the decision result in a blow to my ultra-sensitive, fragile ego? I’m absolutely convinced.

Therefore, still pondering 🙂

My challenge from my book coach: Why do you want to write this book? Why must you tell this story? Why are you drawn to this idea? Why, why, why?

My response:

When I was 16, an old, gray-haired man shuffled over to me where I stood at the front of our church, cleaning up after our youth group had performed a play I had written for the congregation.

“Young people like you are the future of the church,” he said, beaming.

I frowned. I had just returned from representing the youth of our area at a national conference and the following month I would fly to Toronto to attend—as a director—a meeting of the board for our church’s national magazine.

“I believe I’m the present of the church, too,” I snapped.

The United Church of Canada had been a significant part of my youth—not only because of the fantastic friends I met, but also because of the sense of hope and peace my faith provided, especially during the tumultuous years of my parents’ divorce.

I imagined my faith was unshakeable.

I was wrong.

In university, I was still volunteering when I coaxed a friend of mine to be the third roommate in our house. He happened to be the church’s youth minister. When his bosses found out that we were (gasp!) “living together” (never mind that we weren’t dating and had separate bedrooms), they gave us an ultimatum: either I quit volunteering or he would lose his job because the “optics” looked bad.

I quit, obviously. I wasn’t about to let Brad get fired.

But my bitterness toward the church grew the more I thought about the blatant unfairness—after everything I had done for the church! All those years!

I never went back.

Except to get married.

And to have our children baptized.

Because I couldn’t turn my back completely on my faith.

I’ve long since lost the bitterness. As an adult I can now see the small, limited narrow minds of the church leaders. It was organized religion to which I objected, not an innate belief in God.

But for years, I had lost that sense of wonder, and faith and hope that religion had provided me. It was the magic of my world—the sense of something beyond what we can see, what we can sense.

I’ve despaired, over the years, as I see the fear and hatred, the violence and judgment practiced in the name of religion. Fundamentalists and extremists of all religions dominate the news cycle and propagate, in my opinion, a sad view of religion. Is there any wonder that overall attendance in traditional churches is dropping?

But there’s still a hunger out there for faith. For wonder. For magic. For hope.

That’s why I want to write this story. To remind/show readers, especially teens who are often susceptible to cynicism as they enter the adult world, that there is something good and true they can hold on to.

And that no one, least of all stuffy church leaders, can take away.

As I work to hone my “why”–why is this story important? Why do I care?–and as I refine my “so what”–my point, my theme, my message–a divinely inspired e-mail arrived in my inbox.

It’s from Erin Overbey and Joshua Rothman, two people whom I’ve never met, and who do not even know I exist, yet they are my new guides. They are archivists for The New Yorker, and I, as a subscriber, receive their compilations of stories from the magazine’s extensive archives.

The focus of the stories they chose to unearth and share with us this week?

Faith and Skepticism.

The two conflicting elements at the core of my novel.

The articles, alas, do not reveal in shining lights or burning bushes exactly how best to phrase the meaning I hope my readers will take away from the book, but they have given me inspiration.

My book is about the magic that religion can possess–the wonder of faith, the hope that springs from the unknowable, the good that can come from accepting without understanding.

It’s what Lyra wants–a sense of wonder and hope and faith and magic. She’s been told by her First World, post-religious, scientific, skeptical culture in which she was raised that such a sentiment–if it exists at all, for who can prove such an ephemeral idea–most certainly cannot be found in religion, a vehicle of superstitious, irrational, dangerous beliefs that leads to hatred and violence and hash judgment and strict, unforgiving dogma.

Yet her society is not wholly wrong; historically, religion is at the heart of so much violence and hate; how can she reconcile what she’s searching for with religion’s brutal history? And why? Why would she come to believe that religion may have her answer?

Oh, and what about her darn phoenix cells? (you know, the whole point of her uniqueness, her cells’ ability to always regenerate no matter the injury or illness, the ones that get her sent on a mission to destroy her religious enemy, the mission during which she has to ultimately decide if she is going to kill her religious enemy or let him live, which means she’ll be using her power to determine who lives and who dies…)

She’ll be using her power to determine who lives and who dies…

She’ll be using her power to play God…

Lyra’s phoenix cells make her immortal…

Hmmm…

A girl who doesn’t believe in religion and is now expected to play God…

I’m almost there, almost there… I see a flicker of the lightbulb atop my head…

(Yay.)

When kids are little, they often ask why. Why is the sky blue? Why do spiders have 8 legs? Why do people hiccup Why, why, why?

If you’re a parent or caregiver, your reaction may follow this trajectory: ah, I love the kids’ curiosity… I like talking with them… I want to share what I know… I thought I knew the answer… I don’t know why snowflakes are all different… I can’t explain it right now… I have to finish getting dinner… No, I don’t know all the answers… argh!! Enough already!

When kids grow up, they often ask why. Why can’t we travel faster than the speed of light? Why are we looking back in time when we see a star? Why do you need to use the clutch when you drive a stick shift? Why, why, why?

If you’re a parent or adult surrounded by tweens and teens, your reaction may follow this trajectory: man, I don’t know. Maybe I knew that answer once… I must have known that answer… I can’t be that dumb… yeah… I’m that dumb…

When kids turn into book coaches, they often ask why. Why do you want to write this book? Why must you tell this story? Why are you drawn to this idea? Why, why, why?

If you’re a writer who is now working with a book coach, your reaction may follow this trajectory: I’ve been working on this book for years; I got this. No… I don’t got this. I don’t know why, I just do!

My first assignment from Jennie: Write one page on why you must write this book.

Um…

Because…

I know this…

It’s in my head…

A little fuzzy…

Let me get back to you on that.

When my husband complimented me the other day on my resilience and optimism about my writing, I gawked at him. He should know me better than that. I’m the pessimist in the family; didn’t he realize there was so much more to it?

Of course not. I hadn’t told him (turns out he’s not a mind reader). So here’s the other side of the  coin, the yang to my writerly yin. Here’s what I also (predominantly) think:

I don’t know what the  flippin’ hell I’m doing. Oh, and I’m getting nowhere. Fast. Waste of my freakin’ time. For nothing.

There it is. The Dark Side of the Force. The Vader to my Anakin.

(But wait… I hear something. It’s vague, and fuzzy… muffled, like the voice speaks through water…

There is still good in her… I can feel it…)