Tag: Hurricane Katrina

Even So

In fact, Judd and Wendy, along with Ray Magnum, and Rosie and Lee Oswalt. and Laine McKay, became so real to me that even after I let Judd McKay have his say about the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, the entire cast of characters decided they wanted to take ten pages each to decipher their emotions, too. I started several weeks later writing about how Ray, Wendy’s husband, suffered from PTSD from being on a firetruck after the storm. I talked about his struggles with increased alcohol use and survivor’s guilt.

By this time, I had started counseling for my own feelings of desperation and anxiety that overwhelmed me after the power came back on and the damage was cleared from my neighborhood, which had experienced Katrina as a Category 1 hurricane over 120 miles inland.

I had let my writing friend Lori read the original story, and I sent her this next ten-page installment from Ray after I finished it. She wrote an in an email back to me that she could see how I was “processing” my own feelings about the hurricane through Ray and thought I needed to talk about his actions, rather than his thoughts. I called her up.

She and I talked for a while, and she crystallized a sentiment for me that I took to heart as I continued to write: This story was not about how people attempted to learn to cope. It was about people who had been destroyed inside by what they had faced. Her exact words (as I remember them) were, “This story is not about Ray’s struggles and victories in AA.”

So I ditched those ten pages and instead wrote instead about Judd and Laine McKay’s meeting with a lawyer to finalize their divorce. Again, I let these characters hurt each other and say hateful things they truly meant. I didn’t get into their heads–I let their actions speak instead. Slowly but surely, I was developing this storm story into a novel that would consume my life for the better part of five months.

Where It Went

I drafted the first short story feverishly in my notebooks until I finished it, then I started typing it into our computer. I revised as I went, tossing in twists of the knife at every point I could find to heighten the dramatic tension. The final scene that took five minutes of story time turned into three days of wondering how to end it and get Wendy and Judd apart again. I went through draft after draft, trying to make it sound “honest” to my concept of the characters.

When I finally solved it, I felt spent. It had taken we two weeks to finish it (I think). But I had a ten-page short story, all told from Wendy’s point of view. But while I thought I was finished with Still Waters, it was not finished with me.

I let my husband read it, and if he wondered about why I had written it, he didn’t ask. He only asked why I had them sleep together. I told him that I was trying to show how far fear could take somebody. I sent it to a few of my writing friends. My friend Christine Parisen said, “Wow! I had to smoke a cigarette after this one!”

But Judd McKay wasn’t finished talking. I kept thinking about that character, and he wanted his ten-page say about the events of the story. So I wrote how he came back to Hattiesburg and discovered Wendy was pregnant, and how he became convinced it was his child. Another month of one gut-wrenching scene after another. I had never written fiction like this, where the characters became much more than thinly-disguised people I knew. Judd McKay and Wendy Magnum became real people in my mind, and they had a greater story they wanted to tell.