GDC Chapter 3
This chapter underwent more revision than any other chapter of the book with the exception of the prologue. Originally, this was in Dannika’s point of view. I decided upon her POV for several reasons. First, it provided an opportunity to show another character’s thoughts and feelings about Scamp, which is a way to reveal character that isn’t available from within said character’s POV. Second, it was a more efficient way of gaining reader identification with Dannika’s character, and I thought that was important as she has less time devoted to her than Scamp and Mather. Finally, I wanted to give girls who read the book at least one scene in the perspective of, well, a girl. I liked the idea that of the four POVs in the book, three were powerful females: Dannika, who Scamp knows could beat him up if she wanted, and two dragons, Patima and Viressus. Not only did that create a balance I liked with Scamp’s dominant perspective, but I think it speaks to a characteristic of my style. Where I like strong, proactive characters in general, I really like those characteristics in girls and women. So writing the scene from Dannika’s POV to show her standing up to Mather—something no one else in the village would dare attempt—really appealed to me. Unfortunately, Master Henham wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of a point of view adopted for use in only one chapter.
Sadly so. The text in Dannika’s perspective was charming, quite revealing as to her character while remaining laudably true to the documented events of the time. Unfortunately, consistency of presentation and voice is an asset to our audience. Scamp is such an established perspective—and, let us not mince words, his perspective is peculiar enough to require substantial establishment—that to distract from him for a single chapter was counterproductive. Dannika could have carried five or six chapters on her own without complication, but such was not called for by the story, and devoting a single chapter to a lone perspective simply didn’t best facilitate transmission of the story’s events.
While I’m not saying I agree, I do see what Master Henham is saying. Usually, when writing for children, the fewer points of view the better. Every time we switch POV in a story we have to recapture the suspension of disbelief and identification we once had with the new character, and that’s difficult to do once in a story; every time we attempt it anew it becomes exponentially more difficult. And children are usually more skeptical of multiple viewpoints than adult readers. That being said, I’m not terribly humble as a writer. If a rare and difficult compositional tactic can bring something unique to the story, I usually feel I can find a way to pull it off. This is how I feel about my original third chapter. I think that Dannika’s character was interesting enough to gain reader identification, that using her POV brought things to the story that no other option could, and that her personality is sufficiently strong to justify only one chapter in her perspective because that personality shines through her words and actions throughout the book. That being said, I know that tactic was difficult and risky, so I’m okay with the chapter as is. I wasn’t when told I needed to change the chapter, but I figured out a way to put it in Scamp’s point of view without losing much, and that really alleviated some of my concern. This is one change that, while I don’t agree it was necessary, I’m comfortable with it having been made. I just hope that Dannika still comes through the story as powerfully as she did in the original version.
Pg. 26, paragraph 1, lines 5-7: I really like this suggestion that bringing the whole dragon home actually crossed Scamp’s mind. It very much fits his character, the exuberant bundle of curiosity who doesn’t ever assume anything can’t be done. Clearly, this was one thing that couldn’t be done, and he realizes that eventually, but that he takes a moment to consider how he is going to drag a dragon’s body home by himself I find quite fitting and, I hope, endearing.
Pg. 26, paragraph 2, lines 3-4: “—which was a patch of dirt and dessicated grass—” This is one of the few lines that just didn’t translate well from the original POV to the current chapter. This is one of the few areas in the book that isn’t in my words—not in this context—and I still don’t like this bit. I think it feels stilted and tacked on, that it doesn’t naturally arise from where Scamp is at this moment. Reading it now made me itch. Sorry Master Henham, but it’s the truth.
Pg. 26, paragraph 2, lines 7-9: This is a tactic that ends paragraphs well: shorten things. End with short sentences made of short, strong words with hard, strong sounds. This works particularly well with longer paragraphs of description or areas with a lot of alliteration. Combining the flowery and elaborate with a short strong climax is a good compositional choice. Also, I like this passage as it shows Scamp’s thought process in a very efficient manner. We see him assessing the situation, as well as get a bit of his relationship with Dannika—that she’s often irritated with him, despite their friendship.
Pg. 27, paragraph 4: This story takes place soon after the War of the Lance, and it was important that I be genuine to the profound shadow all that violence cast over these people. Dropping blocks of such sentiment throughout the book would have greatly slowed down the story, which wasn’t an option. However, here I thought one paragraph explaining their great fear at seeing the fire would not only be justified, but make the passage stronger. I hope so, and that the few times I’ve chosen to do such things managed to establish the context in which this story is happening in the larger world.
Pg. 28, paragraph 1, lines 3-6: This last sentence is another example of pairing a long, detailed sentence of process with a staccato end. In this instance, the strong ending is achieved with the use of a colon.
Pg. 29, paragraph 7, lines 2-3: “Once she’d spoken the words she looked at the ground and shuffled her feet, as if she felt foolish.” This is one of the lines that betrays the shift from Dannika’s perspective. In early drafts, you read her thoughts, which reveal her doubts about the statement she just made about Scamp showing up Mather. But when I switched to Scamp’s point of view, all the internal thought and motivation had to go. Here, I turned her thoughts and feelings to physical gestures in an attempt at communicating her feelings, and this was the best I came up with. It’s more obvious and a little clunky, but there wasn’t a way to keep the original.
Pg. 29, paragraph 8: Part of Scamp’s journey has to do with discovering who his brother really is and what Mather means in his life. This paragraph helps establish Scamp’s perspective on his older brother as the story begins. Scamp feels inferior. He knows this is how he is perceived, and can’t bring himself to disagree. He can see Mather’s gifts and talents, which are easily visible, whereas his flaws are carefully hidden behind a shell of pretend confidence. As the story unfolds, Scamp grows to know his brother better and, as he does, grows disillusioned. But it is at that painful point, when Mather finally becomes human and vulnerable, that a true brotherly relationship is born. Now, this early in the story, they are in a very real sense strangers to each other.
Pgs. 30-31: This is one of my favorite moments in the book, Scamp standing there in his underwear, completely oblivious for a moment as to why the pair is staring at him. In fact, this is one of the “payoff points” I had in mind when I first conceptualized the story. Whenever I start developing a story, I don’t envision a character necessarily, or a climax, or the bulk of a plot arc or anything so uniform; the story comes together as payoff points, or things that I feel the reader will really enjoy, which accrete together into some cohesive whole. These points may be lines of crackling dialogue, or a specific action or plot event, or even a peculiar idea, concept, or name. As I continue to ruminate over a story for days and weeks and even months, I find that more and more of these payoff points emerge from my unconscious. Oftentimes, I’ve had these ideas for a long time and just didn’t know how to use them. They’ve been sitting inside my computer’s memory, filed away until they can be applied to some story. When I start actively considering a new story, I find that many of these old ideas for payoff points clump together with new ideas, and then one day I have the very rough structure for a story. Almost always this process of point plotting stimulates the foundation of a character I find fascinating, a theme that intrigues me, and a climax suitable for both. Once I have these pieces in alignment, I write the story, filling in what comes between. Anyway, this moment was one of these payoff points early on in the story development process. I love how this illustrates Scamp’s problem-solving skill, as well as his lack of confinement to cultural restrictions. Finally, I like this because it has the potential to make parents and teachers scowl a bit. Part of the Clint Johnson philosophy on writing for kids is that if you never write anything that makes a parental figure at least a little nervous, you aren’t writing for your audience. I thought this was a good way to show Scamp rebelling against societal norms, but in an innocent way and for a constructive purpose.
Pg. 32, paragraph 3-6: Here is the down side to Scamp’s refusal to accept being constrained by the possibilities of normalcy: he sometimes hurts others’ feelings. To Scamp, the treasure chest was of paramount importance, so much so that he never thought that breaking Dannika’s comb might not be his right, or that other options might work as well and so he should have refrained from doing this because of her feelings. While the breaking of the comb may appear a small thing, those who are familiar with the War of the Lance know that most of the magnificent Vallenwood trees were destroyed during the war. This comb came from a time of peace, meaning when Dannika was quite young. It may be an heirloom, perhaps a gift or memento from her parents, whom we learn later on are dead. I didn’t make it too clear in the book that this action could really have been hurtful because the story didn’t have room to explore Scamp’s impetuousness hurting his friendships, but I wanted to include small events that would illustrate that in indication of the larger story of these characters. Like all larger than life characters, Scamp’s personality includes unusual abilities and talents that, when allowed to reach excess, can be counterproductive. This is an example of Scamp’s curiosity and creativity leading him to do the wrong thing.
Pg. 32, paragraph 8: “Nettlebottom.” Names are just about the toughest things to do well when I write a story, and I love this one. If I were a kender—which is not to declare definitively that I am or am not—I believe I would be named Nettlebottom. The name is a whole story in and of itself, and so very true in its illustration. In my painfully well-informed opinion, while my assitant’s stature and physiology make his being of kender heritage impossible, his personality, in every way in excess, almost mandates that he be kenderkin. Barring some curse bestowed by a wizard who could not possibly have considered the implications of his action—not even the vilest of Black Robes would desire a world with giant, novel-writing kender—I cannot explain this conundrum. Yup, that’s me. Nettlebottom Conundrum.