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Extended Family: When Fictional Characters Show Up in Your Living Room
Posted by Nancy Kricorian on January 16, 2013 at 4:30pm
We hear that for many writers, the characters they create "come alive"
during the writing process. But in what ways is that phrase more than
a simple metaphor? And how is a writer supposed to manage the expanded
household as it begins to fill up with progeny spilling over from the
pages of a work in progress?
My third novel, All the Light There Was, which is set in the Armenian
community of Paris during the Nazi Occupation, took ten years to
research and write. In part I needed a decade because I had a great
deal of research to do, but it was primarily due to the fact that I
was juggling a few other jobs-running a household, raising two
daughters (and it turns out that dealing with kids between the ages of
eight to eighteen takes more space in your head than was necessary
from zero to eight) and working for a women's peace group trying to
stop multiple U.S.-funded wars and occupations.
In order to recreate the atmosphere of the working class neighborhood
of Belleville during the period the French refer to as Les Ann es
Noires (The Dark Years), I read voluminously from histories, journals,
collections of letters, and novels penned during and immediately after
the war years. I went to Paris to tour the lyc e that my narrator and
protagonist Maral Pegorian had attended, and to interview octogenarian
and nonagenarian Parisian Armenians who had lived through the war.
Through the research, several salient material details were impressed
upon me again and again: during the Occupation ordinary people were
hungry most of the time, during the four winters under Nazi rule Paris
apartments were generally without heat, and Parisians were often in
the dark both literally and metaphorically. Germany used France as its
wartime breadbasket, making off with the lion's share of French
butter, milk, wheat, vegetables, fruit and meat. Food was rationed and
even with ration tickets in hand shoppers were often unable to procure
their due. Rutabagas and turnips, which had been used before the war
as cattle fodder, were now a staple of French cuisine. The Germans
also requisitioned French coal and other fuel, leaving Paris
apartments unheated in winter. Nighttime blackouts meant the streets
were dark and curfews often kept people in their homes after
nightfall.
Once the bulk of the research was done, I disciplined myself to write
two hours a day, five days a week, aiming for two pages a day. This
schedule was mostly successful, except when one of the kids stayed
home sick from school, or there was an emergency street demonstration.
While I was writing, I traveled back in time and across the ocean to
Occupied Paris. I could not only hear the voices of my characters, but
I could also feel the cold air seeping in the cracks around the window
frames, and smell the dreaded rutabagas cooking in the kitchen. I
fretted with Maral over her lack of bath soap, and shared the
frustration of her cobbler father about his inability to get
leather. But it wasn't until the day that my husband asked me why we
had seven jars of mustard in the pantry that I realized how deep this
shared experience had gone.
It was true-there were seven jars of mustard in the pantry, and six
jars of jam, along with more canned goods than we could eat in a
winter. Without being conscious of what I was doing, I had stockpiled
the foodstuffs that Maral's family lacked in Paris in 1942. I had
always thought of myself as spending hours living in the Pegorians'
world; what I hadn't realized was that the characters had moved into
my apartment. They were haunting our pantry, showing up in
conversation through the Armenian proverbs I cadged from Maral's
father, and occupying my thoughts when I was supposed to be helping
with the science fair poster. Once I became conscious of their
presence as part of the family, I was better able to balance their
demands with those of my real world children.
Ten years on, once the novel was completed, the manuscript handed over
to my editor and the rest of the publishing team, the characters
started to recede, and I missed them. But I'm glad too that they are
soon heading out into the world and into the homes of my readers.
Now I've begun work on my next novel. It's about an Armenian family in
Beirut during the Lebanese Civil War. I'm excited, but a little
anxious, about what life will be like with them in the house.
Nancy Kricorian
1/13
All The Light There Was will be published in March 2013 by Houghton
Mifflin Harcourt. For more information visit http://nancykricorian.net
http://www.shewrites.com/profiles/blogs/an-extended-family-when-characters-show-up-in-your-living-room
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress
Extended Family: When Fictional Characters Show Up in Your Living Room
Posted by Nancy Kricorian on January 16, 2013 at 4:30pm
We hear that for many writers, the characters they create "come alive"
during the writing process. But in what ways is that phrase more than
a simple metaphor? And how is a writer supposed to manage the expanded
household as it begins to fill up with progeny spilling over from the
pages of a work in progress?
My third novel, All the Light There Was, which is set in the Armenian
community of Paris during the Nazi Occupation, took ten years to
research and write. In part I needed a decade because I had a great
deal of research to do, but it was primarily due to the fact that I
was juggling a few other jobs-running a household, raising two
daughters (and it turns out that dealing with kids between the ages of
eight to eighteen takes more space in your head than was necessary
from zero to eight) and working for a women's peace group trying to
stop multiple U.S.-funded wars and occupations.
In order to recreate the atmosphere of the working class neighborhood
of Belleville during the period the French refer to as Les Ann es
Noires (The Dark Years), I read voluminously from histories, journals,
collections of letters, and novels penned during and immediately after
the war years. I went to Paris to tour the lyc e that my narrator and
protagonist Maral Pegorian had attended, and to interview octogenarian
and nonagenarian Parisian Armenians who had lived through the war.
Through the research, several salient material details were impressed
upon me again and again: during the Occupation ordinary people were
hungry most of the time, during the four winters under Nazi rule Paris
apartments were generally without heat, and Parisians were often in
the dark both literally and metaphorically. Germany used France as its
wartime breadbasket, making off with the lion's share of French
butter, milk, wheat, vegetables, fruit and meat. Food was rationed and
even with ration tickets in hand shoppers were often unable to procure
their due. Rutabagas and turnips, which had been used before the war
as cattle fodder, were now a staple of French cuisine. The Germans
also requisitioned French coal and other fuel, leaving Paris
apartments unheated in winter. Nighttime blackouts meant the streets
were dark and curfews often kept people in their homes after
nightfall.
Once the bulk of the research was done, I disciplined myself to write
two hours a day, five days a week, aiming for two pages a day. This
schedule was mostly successful, except when one of the kids stayed
home sick from school, or there was an emergency street demonstration.
While I was writing, I traveled back in time and across the ocean to
Occupied Paris. I could not only hear the voices of my characters, but
I could also feel the cold air seeping in the cracks around the window
frames, and smell the dreaded rutabagas cooking in the kitchen. I
fretted with Maral over her lack of bath soap, and shared the
frustration of her cobbler father about his inability to get
leather. But it wasn't until the day that my husband asked me why we
had seven jars of mustard in the pantry that I realized how deep this
shared experience had gone.
It was true-there were seven jars of mustard in the pantry, and six
jars of jam, along with more canned goods than we could eat in a
winter. Without being conscious of what I was doing, I had stockpiled
the foodstuffs that Maral's family lacked in Paris in 1942. I had
always thought of myself as spending hours living in the Pegorians'
world; what I hadn't realized was that the characters had moved into
my apartment. They were haunting our pantry, showing up in
conversation through the Armenian proverbs I cadged from Maral's
father, and occupying my thoughts when I was supposed to be helping
with the science fair poster. Once I became conscious of their
presence as part of the family, I was better able to balance their
demands with those of my real world children.
Ten years on, once the novel was completed, the manuscript handed over
to my editor and the rest of the publishing team, the characters
started to recede, and I missed them. But I'm glad too that they are
soon heading out into the world and into the homes of my readers.
Now I've begun work on my next novel. It's about an Armenian family in
Beirut during the Lebanese Civil War. I'm excited, but a little
anxious, about what life will be like with them in the house.
Nancy Kricorian
1/13
All The Light There Was will be published in March 2013 by Houghton
Mifflin Harcourt. For more information visit http://nancykricorian.net
http://www.shewrites.com/profiles/blogs/an-extended-family-when-characters-show-up-in-your-living-room
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress