Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [135]
One last comment on the tragedy and its consequences: I can’t speak for all authors of fiction, but I would think it to be true of most storytellers that our characters become real people to us. After spending so much time with them, getting to know them intimately—what’s in character for them to do and what’s not—thinking as they do, putting myself in their shoes, so to speak, they become living, breathing individuals. To then have a character die is … nearly like losing a friend. I do hope my muse will allow all my beloved characters to live in my next novel.
He can take the villains as he pleases.
More Googling …
I also did extensive research on Ethiopian history, topography, and culture; metastasized osteosarcoma and its diagnosis and treatment; limb salvage surgery versus amputation with prosthetic devices; and soccer rules for youth leagues. For my first historical novel Jordan’s Bend, I spent untold hours at several libraries, even traveling from Ohio to North Carolina to visit a library that had specific books I needed. For this novel I merely remained at my desk, continually going online to enter the endless resources on the Internet. Today’s technology—what a wonderful gift in relation to the difference in time, energy, and available materials!
The idea for using averted vision must’ve come from my reading (I am always reading a book, and generally it’s a novel; I can get almost panicky if I’m about to finish a book and don’t have another waiting to begin immediately), but since I read so many books, I can’t recall where I came across that fascinating anomaly. However, I remember feeling exactly that: fascination, and then a determination to weave the scientific phenomenon into all three story lines with a slightly different twist in perspective for each one. Adding the averted vision symbolism was like sprinkling fresh basil into my homemade pasta sauce: It’s not absolutely necessary, but it would be bland without it. And that indefinable “something” would be missing.
Pulling from memories
I am a lifelong lover of beaches, particularly those on the Gulf Coast of Florida. Some of my earliest memories are of family vacations spent on the beautiful white sand beaches of Treasure Island where we collected shells (I still have jars full), body surfed the waves (with the scars to prove it), walked the boardwalk of St. John’s Pass to view the catches of the day (unforgettable pictures of an impressive hammer head shark), and the feel and smell of caressing, salty breezes—which I can conjure up just about anywhere by simply closing my eyes and concentrating. As rich as the Internet is, it hasn’t yet allowed my senses to feel the sun on my face … or taste the saltiness of the Gulf. Those I must pull from my memories—or experience once again.
My next novel, like Jordan’s Bend, takes place mostly in the hills of Tennessee. I think I can already smell the honeysuckle … I can feel the just-picked, juicy blackberries I cradle in my hands … I can almost taste the skillet-fried cornbread, fresh from the oven. But I believe I need to experience it all firsthand again, don’t you?
After all, your vicarious experience through my story is at stake.
A Final Note from Carolyn
On December 23, 2010, one of the brightest lights in my life went out.
I’ve often spoken about my fierce love for my three guys: my husband, Craig, and our wonderful sons, Robb and Jay. For a woman who expected to be the mom of girls, with their frills and dolls, I was surprised when God blessed us with boys—and the accompanying bats and balls, cars and trucks and trains, and military paraphernalia everywhere. But what joy I discovered in that all-male atmosphere, for I was treated like a