From time to time, one of the Forum members hosts a "house party" for our characters at a setting of their choice. My characters have gone to a psychologist's office for therapy, visited London during the Blitz, attended a fair hosted by King Charles II, gone skiing in New Zealand, visited Istanbul in the 15th century, gone to the Mall at the End of Time, and hosted a Fourth of July party in Cherry Hill.
I've blogged about this intensive writing exercise several times. Here's two links to the Cherry Hill House Party blogs.
HERE
HERE
This time, I have a new character, one who I know only a little about, at the party--Tom Chandler. It's only recently that Tom has come forward as more than Laura Grace's dead husband. His goodness has been revealed through her memories and grief. Back in December, Tom Chandler rose from my subconscious to demand equal time. Here's a blog post introducing his story in CAMP FIRE.
When we began to talk about a house party, I thought I'd take Tom as a 19 year old. He's still feeling his way to being his own man. Why wouldn't a Night in a Museum with wacky exhibits be a good idea to help me learn more about him? ; )
Here's just a bit I wrote to introduce him to the other writers.
Thomas Cherry Chandler (Tom), 19, is
six feet four inches, with a long and lean build rather like Michelangelo’s
DAVID. His golden hair is wavy, just short of curls, and sits on his
collar and covers his neatly attached ears and flops over his high forehead.
His complexion is fair with a tendency toward red, especially when he’s been
out in the sun. His long face’s best feature is deep-set, dark blue eyes that
are rimmed with navy and turn to slate when he’s angry. Tom usually wears
bell-bottomed jeans with well-worn hems and a tee shirt.
He’s a direct descendant of the
founder of Cherry Hill—Lawton Cherry. Unfortunately for Tom, his mother still
thinks that being a “Cherry” matters more than the content of your character.
And he doesn’t measure up. He cares too deeply for the poor and wants to be a
teacher.
Tom’s reaction is to draw in, but seek areas where he can be
his own man like making reproductions of the antiques in the house that people
pay good money for—money he will use to get an education degree at the local
college and not go to UGA and major in business like Mother insists. He’s more
than just a “Cherry”. And he loves to slip out of the Cherry House where he
lives to the woods to camp and be alone with his thoughts—thoughts that might
be better left unsaid. Some he’s voiced only to be slapped down by Mother.
Others he knows better than to say. But his stomach was aching from all the
swallowed thoughts.
#
“Thomas Cherry! If you persist on this
path, you’ll never measure up.”
Her voice followed him upstairs and
down. After every discussion of his plans to be a teacher. Measure up. It
pulsed through him every day and in everything he did.
How did you measure up to a ghost? The
ghost who reigned in every timber of the house and created the town that bore
his name? A ghost who had stared at him from the huge portrait over the parlor
mantel every day of his life.
The cold blue gaze held him captive
every time until he had to blink. But the small gilt mirror under the portrait
dared you to compare yourself to “The Law.” Did measuring up have anything to
do with the having the same high forehead, eyes, and square jaw? Or the same
height?
No. It couldn’t be or Mother wouldn’t
continue harping on being a Cherry and acting like one.
What about being a Chandler? Apparently
Daddy’s family didn’t matter. Nor did Daddy if the arguments he overheard
nearly every day were any indication.
Forcing his eyes off his own face, he
stared at the “Great Gray Eminence” of Cherry Hill again. “What do you want of
me, Old Man?”
Be
your own man.
He froze. His breath whistled through
his nose as his heart kicked up.
He could do that. And it didn’t take
creating a town to do it. No. His goal was to be worthy of Laurie. Pure and
simple. That would be enough.
