This week: 'The Life of the Dead' Edited by: Fyn  
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Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.~~ George Eliot
Death is no more than passing from one room into another. But there's a difference for me, you know. Because in that other room I shall be able to see.~~ Helen Keller
If we lose love and self-respect for each other, this is how we finally die. ~~Maya Angelou
While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die. ~~Leonardo da Vinci
Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality. ~~Emily Dickinson
The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living. ~~Marcus Tullius Cicero
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A few books ago, I had to kill off a character. Not a bad guy eath, but the death of a character I loved and admired. She was a good person. In a book ostensibly about suicide, she was the one who died. People were truly upset with me about it. It wouldn't 'make sense' to the readers until the next book; but, I couldn't tell them that!
The thing is, death is a part of life. Intentional, accidental, tragic, or deserved it is still often difficult to write about. It cuts close to the author's psyche; fears, worries, health issues, loss, world-ending space of time. To write about a loved character's death forces the writer to examine how they view death and the consequences surrounding same. It can be extremely hard to write about a character's spouse, parent or child dying. It is because we (as writers) and simply as people tend to avoid even thinking about death. We put off wills. We don't think about making arrangements for after. We come up with a million things we need more than life insurance. Memorials and funerals are tough enough without contemplating our own. Yet in writing about a character's death, these subjects jump to the forefront of their lives! And then, we, as the author, need to deal with all the 'stuff' that comes after.
Often, in novels, death is skimmed. We kill off someone at the beginning before the reader (and the author) become enamored of them, even if a major character is dealing with 'their lifetime' of knowing the deceased. We learn about the character through memories or flashbacks. We build in a safe zone from which to view them. Or they conveniently die 'off-screen' so to speak.
A neighbor's father passed away recently. Tonight was the viewing. One thing about reaching a certain age is that one tends to have to go and partake of these gatherings. I always struggle to find 'the right' thing to say, when truth be told, there are no words that can ever adequately express sorrow or grief. It's awful. It's terrible. So, I hug and listen.
Funerals bring folks together who haven't (for whatever reasons) seen each other in ages. There are a variety of catching up conversations that happen after they've paid their respects. There is laughter and storytelling. There are giggles and tears. A rite of passage that reminds the rest of us that tomorrow is not a given, that we are not immortal and that we need to appreciate today for tomorrow may never come.
And they force one to think (at the very least) about what they'd want at such an event. Pictures scattered around? Specific clothing? Certain music playing tastefully in the background? The choice of a certain flower, song or verse. I always wonder at the stories behind the choices. Because, there are stories there. These, I think, are important.
Me? I want my words scattered around way more than I'd ever want pictures. I figure if you don't know what I looked like, why are you there? (But that's just me.) And if I'm ever laid out for viewing? I promise you, I will come back to haunt whoever made that decision! Again, just me. Many folks need that closure. Others need the wake: the stories, the love, the memories brought forth and shared over a bottle of Jim Beam.
Funerals in writing give the author an opportunity to further a story, have specific people run into each other, to overhear all sorts of things. It can let you know who is there for real, who came for the food (Believe me, people do that, sad to say.) and who came simply to see who came.
Various cultures deal with death in many different ways. I went to a memorial where my friend's ashes where poured into a Viking longboat which was then lit afire with a flaming arrow. Me? Dump my ashes into a hole under that ancient oak up on the hill and let me become a part of the tree.
When my husband had his stroke last May, we slammed face on into what lies down the road. Luckily for us, it is still down the road apiece, but now he has faced the inevitability of that day and we've started figuring it all out. Give your characters that opportunity as well.
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For Authors: March 04, 2020 Issue [#10057]
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