Susie writes:

My  son has a Woobie. Remember the security blanket from Mr. Mom? Yeah, that’s my son. His Woobie is a disgusting denim comforter he sleeps with. It’s ripped in seven places. The stuffing is coming out. If I wash it, it will disintegrate in my washer. I fear the Woobie. 

So, while he was at school yesterday, I remade his bed. I washed his sheets. And I took the comforter and shoved it in a black plastic bag and hid it in the closet. 

Hoping, maybe, he wouldn’t…uh, notice? 

He came home, and we all had a nice dinner (borscht) and watched the debate and then…bedtime.  I was reading, peacefully in my own bed when Peter walked in with a distressed look. 

“Mom, where is my….blanket?”  He appeared about three years old. 

“Uh….” And here’s where I tried to get creative.  “It’s no longer with us.” 

Fear flashed across his face.  “It’s not?  Where is it?”

“Uh…Blankie Heaven?” 

“Blankie Heaven!” His eyes widened and he swallowed hard. Looked outside. “It was garbage day today!  You didn’t.” 

Now listen. I DID NOT LIE.  I simply…shrugged. Made a little face, which one MIGHT have interpreted as an affirmative answer. 

I had good intentions.  I guess I was thinking I’d offer him a suitable alternative, one without the rips and the smells, and he’d take it like the man/football player he is. 

Oh no. 

He dropped to the floor (still in three year old mode) and said.  “Mommy, what have you done?” 

Which brought in the other children, who, after Peter declared my sins, were equally horrified at my actions. An hour later, after I’d exhausted ALL my psychological tactics (threats, shame, guilt, ridicule….) I finally marched down to the closet and threw the plastic bag at him. He opened it like a starving man to C-rations. 

“My blankie!”  He clutched it to himself and then looked at me with an evil, very evil eye. “Do not touch my blankie again.”

Oh, I’m not afraid.  And this is NOT over. But I learned something. 

I need to PREPARE my son for the surrender of his Woobie. (I figure I have about five years – he’s 13). Even if I had torn it from his clutches (like really, I’d be able to do that – the kid bench presses nearly 165), he would STILL need to go through the steps to emotionally release it. 

Yesterday, we talked about giving your character a Glimpse of Hope as the beginning of character change.  Today, let’s talk about the Invitation to Change.

The Invitation is that moment when the character, very, very early on, is given the opportunity to do something different. To believe something, or value something, or try something. Often they turn it down, and it’s that regret that drives them to have the opportunity again.

For example, in The Patriot, there is a classic scene in the beginning where the Father (Mel) is talking with his peers who are deciding to go to war with Britain.  He says something along the lines of “Principles?  I’m a father.  I don’t have the luxury of principles.”  The rest of the movie is about him regretting those words.

Sometimes, however, they take the opportunity, and see how woefully under-equipped they are. Like, when Bilbo gives Frodo the ring. Frodo takes is (reluctantly) and has no idea what he’s getting himself in for. 

Give your character an invitation to change, something that makes them think about their vacancies, and leads them to tomorrow’s topic: The NEED to change. 

I’m off to sew up the Woobie. I know, I’m such a good mom. Or maybe I’m the one who is changing….?

 

Rachel writes:

First of all, I’m on Pete’s side. Let’s just be clear here. 😉

Second of all, let’s talk about what “character arc” tactical error Susie made. (Sorry babe, you know I love you.)

She saw a situation that needed to be changed and took action. She jumped in, stole the Woobie, solved a supposed problem, then tried to force the rest of the characters (her kids) to accept her solution.

Now, most of the time this scenario might be a great opening hook… ooo, I see another “mom” book here Sooz. “The Death of the Woobie,” how a mother helps her son grow up by giving up his last childhood affection. (I’m writing it right now!)

Anyway, back to my point. Perhaps a better tactic of the “mom character” in this scenario would’ve been to challenge the “kid character” to “change or else.” 

Set the stage, present the issue, then bring on disaster. 

Think of this in terms of our fiction. We sometimes just jump in and solve the supposed problem without ramping up. The reader has no time to come along side the character, watch them face the problem, offer a solution, then react to failure (disaster.)

My point: Don’t move too, too fast with your characters. Don’t lag, but don’t rush ahead and “fix” things. Let the protagonist sweat a little. 🙂

And for the record, Susie is about one of the best mom’s I know. 🙂