Character Profiles - Jamil

On this Martin Luther King Day, I want to share the fictional story of Jamil  Ramos. I have always been inspired by the words of MLK, even though he died before I was born. His message was one of hope that the injustices of men would one day be replaced by equality and freedom from fear. Dr. King had a dream of a better life for those who have been oppressed just because of the way they look or where they were born. His dream is the American dream, that anyone, no matter how poor or disadvantaged, can become whatever it is they want to be. And this is the theme of Crawdad. 

Jamil, as well as all the other characters in Crawdad, have challenges in their lives, but they each do the best they can to overcome those challenges. Jamil dreams of being a professional trumpet player despite having no money and very little family support. He doesn't let it stop him.

~Meet Jamil~

I spent most of my math class, staring at my trumpet, thinking about what Mr. T said. I sat next to the window so I always put my trumpet on the window sill. It had a few dents in the horn. Mama said it was probably from too many late nights playing in the juke joints of New Orleans. She bought it in a pawn shop there before I was born. A few of those dents were from me though.

I grew up playing with it all the time, like it was some kind of weapon till I figured out you could make sounds with it. I made all kinds of awful racket with it. Mama said it sounded like dying rooster. Sometimes it got so bad, she’d take it away, but eventually I got the hang of it.

Mama would play her old vinyl records of Duke Ellington and Miles Davis till the record player broke and we had to throw it out. I’d play with those records over and over till I could make my trumpet sound the same. Lots of times I’d play by myself till Mama got home from work. My trumpet kept me company like a friend. When I played, I wasn’t lonely by myself.

By the time I was old enough to start band at school, I was hooked. I was also way past the other kids my age. I wasn’t too good at sheet music, but I could usually play what I heard. I thought everybody learned that way till I joined band.

I wanted to play trumpet for real, professionally. I always had, but now I wanted something even more. I wanted to meet my dad, Leon Ramos in Charleston. I wanted to ask him a million questions, like what he did to make Mama hate him so much. Or why did he never come around? What had he been doing all these years? The more I thought, the more questions popped into my head the way dish soap bubbles grow bigger and bigger until they fill the whole sink and spill over the side. I was filling up with questions I had no answers for and they were pushing my music out of the way.

If I was going to play well at audition, I’d have to clear out all the cobwebs out of my mind, but how? The only way I could think of was to find him.

You can find out more about Jamil and read Crawdad on AMAZON

Happy Martin Luther King Day!

Character Profiles ~ Angel

Of all the characters in Crawdad, there's nobody quite as damaged as Angel, but she's probably one of the toughest too. She's made some bad choices in her short life. Choices that have left her with nothing. She ran away from home on a whim, misled by someone she thought she could trust.  Can she ever go back?

~Meet Angel~

Mikey glared at me like he might hit me again, his eyes so dilated they were like huge black holes in his head. I got up and went to the kitchen before he could do it again. There was nothing inside him. He’d burned it out a long time ago and now he wanted to burn out my soul too.

     I hovered in the kitchen by the sink overflowing with smelly, putrid dishes because no one ever washed them. I stared out the back window at the yard filled with weeds as high as your waist and remembered the smell of fresh cut grass when my dad mowed the lawn back home. The buyer came banging on the front door. When Mikey opened the door, I slipped out the back unnoticed. I sprinted across the overgrown lawn, glad I’d put my flip flops on this morning. They weren’t great for running, but at least the rocks didn’t hurt as much as barefoot. Once I hit the alley, I was out from under the shady trees in the shabby yards.

The sunlight blinded me at first until my eyes adjusted. It had been awhile since I’d been outside much. I could feel the sun burning my pale skin, but it felt good to me, like it was burning away the crust of filth that had grown over me like moss on a sick tree. For the first time in a long time, I felt alive, maybe even happy. Maybe I could go home? I could finish school. I was still young enough to go. They had to let me in, right?

Mikey’s voice nagged my brain. You can’t do that. You’re too stupid. They don’t want you. It had become. a constant in my life. Sometimes I believed it, but I never wanted to think those things about myself. I knew I wasn’t stupid. It’s just I wasn’t sure about the other two.

I shoved Mikey’s voice out of my mind and tried to put some distance between me and his house. All I had in my pockets was a dead cell phone somebody left at the house after a night of partying and a watermelon Jolly Rancher. My tummy grumbled so I unwrapped the candy, stuck it in my mouth, and kept walking.

I got a few blocks before I saw a cop car, its lights flashing, stopped in the middle of the street. It wasn’t a busy neighborhood so it wasn’t blocking a whole bunch of traffic, but there were a few gawkers across the street. Part of me knew I should turn the corner and avoid the mess, but curiosity got the better of me, so I kept walking the way I was going. Pretty soon I could see two officers hassling this big black kid. Some cops think they gotta interrogate every person they talk to, but I couldn’t see how the kid was doing anything wrong. I supposed he could a robbed a gas station, but he didn’t act guilty. Suddenly, one of the cops went for his Taser gun.

You can find out more about Angel and Crawdad on AMAZON

Character Profiles ~ Aisha

In life and in fiction, we see what someone is made of when they're under pressure. In Crawdad, all the characters are stressed by something in their lives, usually events outside of their control.

In Aisha's case, she's got a strange insight into people she's learning to understand, but can barely control. Is it voodoo? Aisha doesn't know, but it scares her and the people around her. Who is she? Is she evil? Is she crazy? Is the power real or just her imagination? And when will it go away?

~Meet Aisha from Crawdad~

“Aisha?” I could hear my grandmother calling me from the porch where she’d been shelling peas in a big, red bowl. A vibration, so faint most folks wouldn’t have noticed, had lured me off the porch and out into the woods, wet and green, steaming like a rain forest. I glanced back over my shoulder where I should have seen grandma’s house through the trees. I saw only shrubs. I could still hear her yelling though.

“Aisha, you get back here or I’m a tan your hide!” she was screaming but it sounded like she was a million miles away. She used to scare the crap out of me, but she’d threatened me too many times in my young life. I didn’t believe her anymore. Besides, I had something in me I needed to understand. No one else around me understood, so I kept walking. I wanted to see Naomi.

My head buzzed with electricity. It was just a feeling I got sometimes when I knew stuff. Once, it started on Friday at school. I knew what the answers were on Mrs. Whitnack’s quiz cause she was thinking them. I knew Paul was gonna ask me out, so I hid in the bathroom until most everyone had got on the bus or left for home. I didn’t like that boy and he couldn’t seem to get it through his thick skull. Missing the bus meant walking a long way home, but it was worth it to avoid Mr. Grabby Hands. I took a short cut through the woods, like I was now, and I was overcome by the same feeling both times. Alive with a vibration like no other. Every leaf was sharper, every sound perfectly clear in my ears, like it was right beside me. Something was coming.

I thought I knew the way, but pretty soon there was a creek I didn’t recognize and the trail turned to little more than a pattern of pine needles and dead leaves.

“What you looking for?” I heard a voice say. I looked around me. I was sure there weren’t nobody there before, but now there was a woman, old and wrinkled as the bark of a gum tree, staring at me with eyes blacker than midnight in a rainstorm. She rattled me, but I tried not to let it show. That was the first time I ever met Naomi.

“Nothing. I’m just walking home,” I said.

“Dat’s not what your heart says,” she said in a little know-it-all voice.

“My heart?”

“’Bout to beat right outta your little chest, it’s so loud. I hear it searching.” I gave her my best “you must be crazy” look, which was easy ‘cause she looked kind of crazy. Her hair was covered by a tightly wrapped purple bandana and her eyes darted around like she kept hearing things in the forest I couldn’t hear. She wore a flowered house coat and slippers, like a patient who just wandered away from the old folks’ home.

“What are you?” I asked her.

“My name is Naomi Wentworth. I got a lotta names, but that’s my favorite.”

The name sounded a little familiar, but too normal to be the person I’d heard all the stories about.

“You ain’t Mama Copperhead, are you?” I blurted out.

I always thought Mama Copperhead was a story meant to keep us out of the woods or away from snakes, but his lady made me wonder if it was true. She laughed a raspy sound.

“Maybe…maybe.”

“Well, nice meeting you, Naomi, but I gotta go,” I said, moving my feet away from her.

“But you ain’t told me what your blessed heart is looking for yet,” she said almost pleading.

I paused. What did she expect me to say?

“I know you been misunderstood a time or two,” she offered as she pulled a loop of string out of her pocket and started lacing her fingers through it to make a cat’s cradle.

“That’s the truth,” I muttered.

“So maybe you’re looking for understanding?” I squinted at her, the momentary glare of the sun through the trees blinding me. A rare breeze cooled my face for a second.

“Ain’t everybody?”

“Maybe, but that ain’t exactly what I mean, honey child.”

I never really heard nobody use that expression before, except for in a joke. Naomi made it sound like the most natural thing in the world.

“I won’t hurt you, sweet pea,” she murmured. I felt the humidity dripping down between my shoulder blades now, itching.

“I know,” I said, a little too smart mouthy. I didn’t mean to be rude, but snapping at people had gotten to be a habit with me.

“Sometimes it’s ok to ask folks to help us, especially when we can’t see the path too clearly,” she said shuffling toward me.

“I heard you was some kinda witch,” I said, backing away a few steps.

“Maybe, maybe not. All in how you look at it, I suppose. They don’t call them witches in voodoo.”

You can find Crawdad on AMAZON

Just a little #SampleSunday from Crawdad~

My newest young adult novel is here! It's called Crawdad and it's a little hard to describe. It's a contemporary tale with a bit of magic. It's the story of Jamil, but it's also the story of Aisha, Angel, Desi, and Sebastian. Crawdad was inspired by my love of the diverse people and places across the South, by music, and by current, terrible events I see in the news.  I made an inspiration  Pinterest page for Crawdad if you want to see.

There's some difficult topics in the book that I haven't attempted to solve because it's not meant to be a preachy book and I obviously don't have all the answers. It's meant to be a hopeful book with an uplifting message while acknowledging some of the tough situations today's teens are up against. I hope you enjoy reading it. Here's a short sample from Jamil:




It wasn’t dark yet, but it was getting there and the mosquitoes buzzed around me pretty thick. The cicadas up high in the pines drowned out everything with their constant sawing screeching noise. I went right. I had to tell someone where I was headed. Missy wasn’t the hottest girl in our school, or even the smartest, but she was pretty darn close and she understood me. I had to hurry cause her mama was pretty strict about not letting me come over past seven on a school night.

I was on her doorstep in just a few minutes. The humidity was so high now just walking felt like going for a swim. I was glad when Missy’s mama let me into their air conditioned house.

“Is Missy here?” I asked, already knowing she was.

“She’s in her room. Why’d you bring all that stuff?” asked her mama, eyeballing my backpack.
“Um, I have a homework question I need to ask her,” I mumbled. It could happen, right? Like, would you turn in my homework while I’m gone?

 “Pfft! Homework?” It was plain she didn’t believe me.

 “Yeah.”

“OK, go on back, but keep that door open. And no trumpet! I’m watching my show.”

Some nights I’d play trumpet for Missy in her room, but I didn’t mean to tonight. I walked softly down the hall and peeked into her room. Missy was stretched out on her bed reading a book.

 “Hey,” I whispered from the doorway. She looked up from her book.

“Hey,” she said. “I missed you.”

I sat down on the bed next to her, leaving my stuff on the floor. She let go of her book and sat up to give me a hug. I’d hugged a ton of people at the funeral, but none of them affected me the way she did. I could smell the flowery soap she’s just shampooed her damp hair with. She was a warm, safe place to fall into and I held her tight.

 “You OK?” I heard her say before I let her go.

 “Yeah, I think so.”

 She pulled back and looked at me to make sure I was telling the truth.

 “Audition is next week,” I said.

Missy, more than anyone after my mama, knew what trumpet meant to me.

 “Will you be ready?” she asked.

 “Gonna try. There’s something I gotta do first, but I think I can be back in time.”

“Be back? Where are you going?”

I had to think a minute how to explain it. I hadn’t told anyone about my dad yet.

 “Before my mama died, she told me something,” I started off.

“What?”

 “You know how I always thought my daddy was dead?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Well, he’s not. He’s living in Charleston right now.”

 “You mean South Carolina?”

 “Yeah. And my mama ain’t my mama. She’s my aunt,” I added, shaking my head. I still couldn’t believe it.

 “Wow,” said Missy, thinking it over.

 “All this time my mama didn’t tell me ‘cause she didn’t want me to know.”

 “Maybe she had a good reason?”

 “Maybe, but I can’t think of any good ones. How could you keep that from somebody?”

 Missy didn’t say nothing. She just twisted her lips a little the way she always did when she was thinking about stuff.

 “It’s been driving me crazy ever since she told me. I can’t concentrate on nothing else, Missy. Not even trumpet,” I said.

 Missy stayed quiet. She wasn’t like one of those girls who would talk your ear off about nail polish and stupid stuff. Or one of those people who just loved the sound of their own voice or couldn’t stand it being quiet. I liked that about her. She really listened.

 “I’m gonna go find him,” I said, staring at my trumpet and the red and white strap she made in school colors for it.

 “What? Like on the Internet?” she asked.

 “No, in Charleston.”

 “You're going to Charleston? South Carolina?” She gave me that I-think-you-crazy look.

 “Yeah, I need to at least see him for myself,” I said.

 “But how? You don’ have a car.”

 “I’ll just hitch a ride with a trucker. Should only take a day or so to get there. I can make it back by audition.”

“Jamil, you should be practicing, not hitchhiking, especially not with some drugged up truck driver.” She was frowning now.

"It’ll be fine. I done it before. And I’ll practice on the trip,” I offered.

“Let’s try to find him on the Internet first. Lots of folks find missing family that way.”

“Something tells me he’s not on there, Missy. Besides, I need to see him in person, look him in the eye.”

“Why?” She truly didn’t understand and I didn’t know how to explain it to her.

“I just do.”

“Well then, wait until after audition. You don’t want to take the chance you’ll miss it,” she said.

“If I don’t do this now, I may as well not do to the audition. I’m not gonna be able to play any good until I get this taken care of. I know it. I just know it.”

“Now you’re just being hard headed,” said Missy, frowning.

“I guess I am, but I’m right on this. I know I am.”

Missy twisted her lips again.

“Then why’d you come here?” she asked.

“I wanted you to know where I’m going. I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“Oh, I’ll worry all right. You got any money?”

“No, but I packed some food. I’ll get by,” I told her.

“You can’t go all the way to Charleston without no money, “she said, getting up off the bed. She crossed the room to her desk an opened a drawer. She pulled out some cash and offered it to me.

“What? I can’t take that,” I said.

“You can pay me back later. It’s only seventy-two dollars.” I shook my head no, but she wasn’t listening. “You’ll starve. Take it,” she insisted, shoving the money into my hands. “Maybe you should take my cell phone too.”

“I won’t have no way to charge it.” She frowned again, knowing I was right.

“OK, but you have to find a way to call me every day and let me know you’re okay.”

“I will,” I said, smiling. She was giving her blessing, which I think was what I might have wanted all along.

“I’m sure I can find somebody to loan me a phone,” I said, standing to stuff the cash into the pocket of my jeans.

Missy grabbed me in another urgent hug.

“Just so you know, I’m not OK with this,” she said into my chest. She might have been crying, but then, I might have been too.

“It’ll be all right,” were the words that came out of my mouth automatically. Does anyone ever believe those words when they say them? Probably not. It’s almost like a gut reaction. You have to say them.

“Get home as fast as you can,” she said.

I nodded before she pulled me into a kiss so sweet and warm I forgot all about leaving for a minute. At a time like this, her mom would usually barge in and ask what was going on, but not this time. Somehow I managed to get my head back on straight and pick up my stuff.

“I’ll be back by the nineteenth,” I said.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

That was my last night in Theodore, Alabama for a while. I stepped out into the darkness and the heat and headed toward the highway.

How an internet meme can help you write a better story~

I'm sure you've read a million quotes on the internet by now. Some of them are great advice, but you've read them so many times you don't even notice them anymore, do you?

One of the most ubiquitous is "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle you know nothing about." or some variation on that idea. I saw it again the other day, but I had to google it to find out who actually said it. (It's Ian Maclaren for the record.)

Obviously, it's always good to be kind, but what does the saying have to do with writing? Its the second truth in the quote that struck me - "everyone is fighting a hard battle."

When you craft the characters of your novel, each one should be fighting their own secret fight, whether it's obvious what that is or not. Even better if its a secret that's revealed to the reader along the way.

Think of all the people you know, in real life and online. All of them have secrets they're keeping for some reason. They may desperately love someone who doesn't know. They may be hiding a mental illness or a sexual orientation. They may have unhealthy addictions or even harmless ones. The point is, you don't really know, do you? But these secret struggles or preoccupations are the motivation for our actions and behaviors, whether we admit it or not. They form the fabric of our character.

So if you want to create a living, breathing fictional character, it makes sense to ask yourself "What secret fight is my character fighting? Do their friends and family know what it is? What would happen if they found out? And how does that affect the plot?

Steven King says a good book doesn't give up all its secrets at once. Neither does a good character.

In my latest southern Gothic novella, The Color of Water, Samantha is fighting many battles with herself and her past. I hope you'll check it out on Amazon and add it on Goodreads. 

Meet Alana~ Vessel by Lisa T. Cresswell

Hello my bloggy friends! We're in the last few weeks before my new novel Vessel is published this May 2015. I hope you visit the blog often for updates about the book and celebratory giveaways. I'm pretty excited so I may feel the need to party :)
Today, I'd like you to meet my heroine.

~Meet Alana~

No one knows me as anything other than chit or the "Black Ghost of Roma". No one knows the scars I hide, the dreams I dream. Hardly anyone knows the sound of my voice. But I have a name that no one calls me. My name is Alana.

I lived as a slave to Master Dine and his family in the village of Roma. I never hoped for anything better until I met Recks and Kinder, the prisoners I was ordered to feed until the Reticents came for their execution day. Until I met Recks, I had never seen someone from the East with eyes like mine, never knew people like me lived free. He told me stories of faraway places where there were no slaves and offered to take me there. He gave me a reason to hope for a better life.

When I set them free, I had no intention of going with them. I was disfigured by my Master’s wife. I was a burden. No one would want me, I thought. But Recks did. He believes in me. I am the captive wild bird and he has set me free.

~About Vessel~

The sun exploded on April 18, 2112 in a Class X solar storm the likes of which humankind had never seen.

They had exactly nineteen minutes.

Nineteen minutes until a geomagnetic wave washed over the Earth, frying every electrical device created by humans, blacking out entire continents, and every satellite in their sky.

Nineteen minutes to say goodbye to the world they knew, forever, and to prepare for a new Earth, a new Sun. 

Generations after solar storms destroyed nearly all human technology on Earth, humans reverted to a middle ages-like existence, books are burned as heresy, and all knowledge of the remaining technology is kept hidden by a privileged few called the Reticents.

Alana, a disfigured slave girl, and Recks, a traveling minstrel and sometimes-thief, join forces to bring knowledge and books back to the human race. But when Alana is chosen against her will to be the Vessel, the living repository for all human knowledge, she must find the strength to be what the world needs even if it's the last thing she wants.

~Now available for pre-order on Amazon~

Title: Vessel
Publication date: May 2015
Publisher: Month9Books, LLC.
Author: Lisa T. Cresswell